


To Be Yours (Only Happens In My Dreams)

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BTS and MonstaX cameos because I suck at OC's, Dialogue Heavy, Homophobia, M/M, So much angst, Why is Himchan here for five seconds?, because I love him, mention of past rape but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: Months of secrets and love explode into a tangled ball of misunderstandings on that fateful night out, and four friends are left to frantically scramble together the pieces of their two hyungs.In which Mark and Jackson might both be broken and love is not the magical cure-all, but it's a damn powerful motivator.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 22
Kudos: 93





	1. Secrets of the worst kind

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING!! : this work will contain mentions of rape and homophobia. If these things trigger you, or you know reading about them is bad for you, please don't read this. Health comes first, people (mental and physical). That said, if you're looking for something angsty with one too many crying-sessions, heavy emotions and drama, then I've got you covered! (this was supposed to be a 5,000 word one-shot and became this 30,000 word monster because GOT7 has too many feelings and all the boys wanted a say ... except for Yugyeom because he's more of an important side-character; I love you Gyeommie!!)  
> Their ages become somewhat clear throughout the story, but if you wish to have a guide: Mark is 25, 94-line is 24, Youngjae is 23, and the maknea-duo is 22.
> 
> Thank you so much in advance for giving this a try, you're all so awesome!!

With a last small tug, Mark adjusts his shirt’s collar. He looks at himself critically in the mirror, pushes another few strands of pitch-black hair back into place where they loop just above his forehead. 

“Okay,” he murmurs, checking his outfit one last time. He opted for a black jacket and turtleneck, pale, minimally ripped jeans and black vans. It’s a mix between casual and chic - not too much effort but enough thought regardless – and he takes a deep breath. He glares at his own reflection.

“Jackson’s getting married,” he reminds himself. “He’s going to have a child and a wife and he’s excited and terrified and _you-”_ he points a stern finger at the mirror- “will not add to his worries. You will be his best friend and support him.” 

His reflection grimaces, as if the thought alone is enough to physically hurt him, and Mark lets his arm fall. His thoughts still whirl between doing the nice thing and doing the healthy thing (Jinyoung’s words, not his). A very heartfelt curse is released, quietly, and then he turns on his heel.

Time to face the music.

He’d politely declined Jaebeom’s offer to give him a ride, mostly because he can’t handle being in a car with the world’s most domestic couple right now. He’s insanely happy for his friends _finally_ confessing and finding each other after three years of mutual pining and being in the closet, but seeing their puppy love sends knives into Mark’s inner core. Their dream come true only sharpens Mark’s lonely reality.

Jackson went back to China six weeks ago after hearing his current girlfriend is _pregnant_. It caused a minor fight with his parents, especially since she wants to keep the baby, but eventually, it was decided that Jackson and Jian would marry. For the smallest of shameful moments, Mark wished that Jackson would flee from the marriage he seemed to be pushed into, but the last time they spoke over the phone Jackson had been nothing but joyful and excited.

That was now one month ago. One very tumultuous month, and Mark knows that nothing would be resolved if he kept going down this path of pain and resentment towards his best friend’s happiness. For Mark to try and move past this, for his heart to stop _yearning_ like a lovesick teenager, he needs space. But before that, before _anything_ , Mark needs to ensure his friend isn’t left with more worries.

Mark needs to see Jackson one last time, and then he needs to leave the man he loves behind.

“One night,” he reminds himself as he locks his apartment. One more deep breath and he’s walking towards the exit. “Just one more night.”

* * *

BamBam had been the one to choose the venue, knowing all the best places and all the best people to set up a surprise party in less than two days. Apparently, Jackson, after having a radio silence of about two weeks with all of them due to wedding preparations, called BamBam out of the blue just last Thursday to announce he’d be flying back to Korea on Saturday and wanted to go clubbing with him. Nothing else was said, just a date and a ‘hope to see you then’, and now here they are.

The club is unknown to Mark, it being almost an hour’s drive from his apartment. It’s something new and overly popular with a flair that screams BamBam’s name in an annoying, high-pitched voice. Or maybe that’s just the gaggle of barely legal girls standing in line outside. Mark grimaces as he hurries passed, utterly grateful his younger friend gave them all passes to use the VIP entrance. It seems a bit overdone, but this whole place is extravagant with its golden lights and black velvet covered tables. The music inside is luckily not as bad as Mark was dreading, the dancefloor right in the middle, full put not packed, and two dozen people chatting near the bar and its black velvet stools at the left.

After scanning the crowd, he rolls his eyes when he sees BamBam casually seated at the bar, one hand holding a drink and the other caressing the face of someone unearthly beautiful. Mark slips between the swaying bodies of not-yet intoxicated people to get to his friend.

“Hey, Bammie!” He needs to raise his voice to be heard, and then BamBam is sending him a blinding smile. The man looks dashing in his black suit, maroon dress shirt and shockingly white hair styled to perfection, but to Mark he’ll always be that small boy whose gigawatt smile is too pure for this world.

Now though, BamBam stops flirting with the male-model sitting next to him, quickly setting his drink on the bar and hopping off his stool to give Mark a hug.

“I’m glad you could make it!” BamBam speaks right next to his ear, smile easily audible. “I know it was short notice and this place is out of your way, but I’ve missed you man!”

They break apart. BamBam’s smile is still as wide as when he was a kid, but Mark can no longer ruffle his hair without looking up. He does it anyway.

BamBam leans back with an affronted yell, his smile betraying him as he swats at Mark’s hand. “Hands off the hair, hyung! This took me an hour!”

Which just makes Mark laugh as he pulls his hand back. The familiar interaction makes his chest glow, something settling as he struggles to keep a sappy smile off his face. Without realizing, he has really missed this cheeky kid.

Said kid has turned back to his flirting partner with a smile. He slides the blonde his drink over the bar on a white napkin mouthing ‘call me’ with a devious grin. The other pockets the napkin and downs the rest of BamBam’s drink in one go, eyes never leaving BamBam’s. It’s admittedly a very hot move, one Mark could appreciate fully if the kid was five years older. For now, he just sniggers at the heart-eyed look BamBam sports when blondie-long-legs hops off his stool and, giving BamBam and then Mark a good once-over, winks at BamBam before disappearing into the crowd.

BamBam doesn’t move for a full two seconds, then he’s leaning into Mark’s side, still grinning and half-shouting. “Jackson-hyung had better be grateful because I’m trading _that ass_ in for you guys.”

Mark laughs like he hasn’t in a month. He hooks an arm around BamBam’s shoulders and shakes him. “I’ve missed you too, kid.”

“Not a kid anymore,” BamBam grins, waggling his eyebrows.

Mark shoves him, smile never leaving his face. Then BamBam is pointing to a pair of stairs near the end of the club, hidden behind the end of the bar. “Go up and second door on the right, everyone else is already there! I’ll bring up Jackson in a bit!”

The stairs lead to a balcony right above their heads which Mark hadn’t spotted when he walked in, a gold trimmed railing keeping the color theme of the club alive. Mark nods in understanding and gives BamBam one last side-hug.

“We’ll talk more later,” he promises, wanting to know everything he missed since his self-installed banishment.

BamBam perks up and nods.

Following the length of the bar leads Mark straight to the staircase without stumbling into the dancing bodies, and with a few large hops he’s upstairs. One last look down reveals BamBam back to leaning on the bar and eyes firmly locked on a certain blonde showcasing some rather difficult moves on the dancefloor.

Mark smirks as he turns and finds the aforementioned door. Leave it to BamBam to snag a potential date while hosting a surprise party.

Once inside the rented room, Mark lets out a breath of relief when the music almost completely cuts off. A soft background noise is all that filters through, leaving enough room for normal conversation and a headache-less evening.

The room is sparsely furnished but inviting. Soft, golden-yellow light floods it from eight small spots in the ceiling. A large three-seat couch occupies the left wall, a low, black table with pre-ordered snacks and drinks stands in front while a flat screen hangs on the wall opposite. Karaoke isn’t Mark’s strong suit, but his friends have never let him use that as an excuse to weasel out of it, much to his relief.

Speaking of, Mark closes the door just in time to receive an armful of Choi Youngjae. The twenty-three-year-old squeezes without remorse, forcing the air out of Mark’s lungs and trapping his arms by his sides. It wrangles a breathy laugh out of the older as he awkwardly pats Youngjae’s back.

“Youngjae,” he wheezes, “I need air.”

He’s released only to be captured by his shoulders and faced with Youngjae’s personal brand of a worried frown.

“Don’t you ever disappear off the face of the planet like that again, hyung. I almost went out of my mind with worry.” He scolds lightly, then his face gains a serious edge. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Mark promises, his heart falling and rising simultaneously at the genuine worry he’s faced with. “I told you, I just needed some time to deal with a family thing.”

A very convenient lie, but enough to satisfy his two youngest friends from prying too much into his absence.

Youngjae sighs and let’s go, a ghost of his smile returning. “Yeah, I know. It’s just that with Jackson-hyung not returning any calls and then you disappearing I just … I worried.” He gives Mark a once-over and then pulls out a real smile. “I’m just really glad to see you, hyung.”

Not wanting to linger on last month any further, Mark simply smiles and puts an arm around Youngjae’s shoulders. “I missed you too.”

He greets the other two on the couch with a small wave, glad they gave him and Youngjae some space, only to be blind-sided when both Jinyoung and Jaebeom stand up to give him a hug.

“I’m glad you came,” Jinyoung smiles when he lets go, though there’s a hidden tension behind his eyes at the words. Mark can only return his smile and squeeze his arm, knowing where Jinyoung’s unease comes from but unable to stop it.

Jaebeom holds him for longer than usual, voice so low it’s almost only air as he murmurs. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Mark promises, squeezing the other once before pushing back and sending him a smile. “I’ve missed you guys,” he tells them all.

Jaebeom keeps his eyes on him for a bit longer, then quirks up one side of his lips before rejoining Jinyoung on the couch. Mark figures they’re one drink away from sitting on each other’s laps. Funnily enough, the pang in his chest at that thought isn’t as harsh as it was two hours ago.

They fall into easy conversation, Youngjae gushing about his new dog, immediately armed with dozens of pictures to win Mark over (as if that’s needed) and Jaebeom and Jinyoung revealing they’re looking for a place to live together. (The dreaded pain stays muted, and Mark can even be happy for them without a heavy shadow hanging over his soul.)

After about fifteen minutes, Jaebeom’s phone beeps. The message from BamBam is only one word: ‘hide!’, and so they do. With a giggling Youngjae and handsy Jinyoung, it’s a small miracle they’re able to darken the room and find adequate hiding places before the doorknob turns. Youngjae is muffling his laughter on the right side of the door, able to hide behind it once it opens inwards, while Jinyoung, Jaebeom and Mark are pressed together behind the couch, a sneaky Jinyoung garnering far too much pleasure from slowly sliding his hand toward Jaebeom’s inner thigh to try and get a rise out of his boyfriend. Mark is, honest to god, trying his damn hardest not to laugh out loud at Jaebeom’s strangled little gasps and hissed reprimands.

The world feels brilliantly alright for those strange dark moments.

Then the door opens, and BamBam’s voice filters in. “...just on the side. I promise this is better than the club.”

“I _like_ the club,” Jackson retorts heatedly. “I wa-”

Light floods the room and Mark has no more time to analyze the angry tone in Jackson’s voice. With loud yells and wide smiles all four of them jump out of their respective hiding places.

“Surprise!”

Youngjae is the first to glomp Jackson, pulling the older man in for a hug from the back. “Welcome back, Jackson-hyung! We missed you!”

That’s when Mark spots a wide-eyed BamBam making an ‘abort’ sign behind Jackson’s back. What?

“...the fuck?” Jackson stares at them as if they’re strangers holding knives in a dark alley. Correction, he’s staring at _Mark_.

All the air leaves the room, Mark’s skin going cold and hot as Jackson ogles him with a fear that quickly switches to anger. He turns on his heel to face BamBam, dislodging a dumbfounded Youngjae, and gives the younger a betrayed look.

“You called them?”

BamBam opens his mouth, face incredulous and apologetic, but before sound can leave it Jackson is already storming passed. The youngest jumps back in surprise. “Jackson-hyung!”

They all stand in complete confusion, the music from the club once again loud with the open door, until Youngjae makes to follow their friend.

“Wait!” Jaebeom stops him, stepping up to pat the two youngest on the shoulders. “Let me talk to him.” He sends a look at Jinyoung to which the other nods.

“I’ll go with.” He turns to Mark. “Just wait here, okay?”

All Mark can do is nod.

With the couple gone, the two youngest eventually sit on the couch and Youngjae rounds on BamBam, both thankfully leaving Mark to his own devices where he decided to lean against the wall.

“Did he say anything? Before he came up?” Youngjae pleads. His eyes switch to Mark then, incomprehension written on his face. “He hasn’t spoken to us for a month and _that’s_ how he reacts?”

“I don’t think it was that personal, Youngjae-hyung.” BamBam tries to soothe him. “Something was off the second he came in, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.” He sends an apologetic glance at both Mark and Youngjae. “I thought seeing all of us might help him. I didn’t know he’d get so- so _mad_.”

Youngjae sags on the couch, blowing out a breath and staring at the ceiling. “I hope J-squared can fix this.” His eyes shift to Mark with a rueful smile. “This really isn’t the reunion I was hoping for.”

BamBam hums in agreement before they fall into an uneasy silence.

It stretches when no one can seem to find the right words to break it, eventually all deciding to simply wait for Jaebeom and Jinyoung to return. Except that Mark is fighting an ever-losing battle in his head.

He’s sure Jackson had looked _straight_ at him, had seen _him_ and freaked because of it. Despite not knowing how that’s significant, Mark can only be sure that it _is_ , which means his brain can’t leave the puzzle alone until he’s solved it. Because it’s Jackson. Because Mark has never been able to ignore anything related to the younger.

 _Why_ would Jackson react so badly to seeing him? The last time they spoke everything had been fine, at least, on Jackson’s end. There was nothing, no indication that Jackson had found some sort of horrible grievance with Mark before that time, so whatever it was must have happened somewhere in the month silence.

Mark’s eyes widen as his stomach drops.

The same time-period he told Jaebeom and Jinyoung, the latter being _very_ close to Jackson, that he has been in love with Jackson for a year.

His mouth runs dry and his heartrate spikes. No way. They wouldn’t have told Jackson, right? Jaebeom and Jinyoung can be nosy and intrusive, but only when they need to pull their friends back from some sort of ledge. There’s just no way they would ever betray Mark’s trust and tell Jackson …

Is there?

The thought won’t go away. With building anxiety, and anger, Mark realizes it would explain all of tonight; Jackson being angered by seeing Mark (as Jackson’s family, and quite probably Jackson himself, has a certain _strong distaste_ towards same-gender love), Jaebeom and Jinyoung going after Jackson, and _this_.

This being the small trembles that are slowly working their way into Mark’s hands, the pit in his stomach yawning wider the longer he stays in this room, the image of his two youngest friends making him sick when he realizes he may have just torn their group apart.

He makes a decision when he tastes bile, pushing off the wall with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

“Okay, hyung,” Youngjae smiles.

Mark closes the door and hurries to follow the signs, uncaring of the loud music or the bodies he bumps into along the way. Luckily the bathroom is at the end of the hall upstairs, a spacious room with five separate stalls and three sinks on the other wall. Mark beelines towards the first available stall he sees, locks the door, and then he’s hacking up nothing but bile, his empty stomach having little else to offer.

The thought of Jackson currently ranting to Jaebeom and Jinyoung about Mark’s _unnatural_ love for him turns his stomach in ways he hadn’t imagined. This whole situation is precisely the reason why Mark had decided to never tell Jackson, but to leave and sort his feelings out on his own.

Fat chance of that happening now.

After a minute of heavy breathing, involuntary tears wetting his lashes and cheeks, Mark flushes and pulls himself back to his feet by the doorknob. It’s a small blessing the floor is clean, the bathroom overall well-kept, but the shame of having been bent over a toilet still hangs onto Mark’s thoughts when he steps out. There’s no one there to witness him walking to the sink and grabbing a tissue to rub at his eyes. Not that there’s much hope of saving face when he sees how pale he looks in the mirror, but he still rinses his mouth and tries his best to fix his hair.

Nothing he can do about his red eyes though.

Nothing except leave.

“Shit,” he hisses, then leans on the sink, head hanging and mind screaming at him to run. He already decided to take an extended trip to America; why not leave before he causes any more of a mess and spare his friends the pain.

He looks up at his reflection and smiles crookedly, his heart beating painfully in his chest. “Just one night, huh,” he whispers.

The door to the bathroom opens, letting in a blast of something poppy and upbeat, before automatically falling closed. It’s the push Mark needs to straighten up and duck his head down, taking one more deep breath he spins on his heel and walks-

-walks straight into someone’s chest, someone only slightly taller but broad shouldered, a confused yet familiar voice ringing out. “Mark-hyung?”

* * *

Jackson _runs_.

Without thinking, without stopping, without looking where he’s going and whose toes he’s stepping on. He can’t see passed the image of Mark smiling, his absolutely gorgeous face lighting up into a heartbreakingly familiar look while dressed as if straight out of a magazine.

Jackson runs because his heart can’t stand to stay, can’t stand to look at everything he’ll never be allowed to have, but will always have _too close_ at the same time.

Jackson runs. He races passed the security outside, trips on a loose stone on the curb and only just catches himself before he goes down. Then he’s standing.

Pants come out between clenched teeth, the street around him only moderately busy and someone’s laughter rings out behind him. Jackson closes his eyes until he can see stars, one hand coming up to grasp his sweater over his heart and _squeeze,_ as if the organ is simply a sponge which can lose all this razor-sharp love just as easily as it was gained.

The pain in his chest stays.

A single sob breaks passed his defense and he straightens up, throws his head in his neck and screams at the high heavens.

“FUCK!”

“Jackson!”

He whirls at Jaebeom’s loud admonishment, seeing disapproval mixed with worry on his friend’s face. Jinyoung jogs up behind him and shoots an apologetic smile at a startled couple across the street, then he rounds on Jackson.

“Hyung, what is going on?”

It’s probably the most painful question Jackson’s ever had to answer, and more tears flow. His anger threatens to fall into despair so he shoves a hand through his hair and grits his teeth. Anything is better than the heartbreak hollowing out his chest.

“Why are you here!” He yells, only it breaks in the middle. The emotions holding him together are the same ones tearing him apart and Jackson thinks he needs to run or lose everyone to the truth.

Jaebeom decides for him when he tries to turn and flee. With three steps he’s in front of him, hands firm on his shoulders and gaze equal parts anger and compassion. “Don’t!” He squeezes Jackson harder. “Stop running and explain, please.”

Which sounds so much nicer in theory when the truth is still some shadow in the background. Tonight is falling apart at the seams in ways Jackson never wanted. He’d been hoping for too much alcohol and a general numbness, not this icy pain spreading throughout his chest.

_Why is Mark here? Why did it have to be him? Why now?_

“Jackson-hyung, please. Has something happened?” Jinyoung asks with too much care, too much hope, _too much_. “This isn’t like you, and frankly, I’m worried.”

The words draw a terrifying laugh from Jackson, his hand once again tugging on his hair, hard enough it hurts. The hollow inside spreads and breaks loose of whatever confines Jackson wrestled it into on the plane. “You don’t know me!” he snaps. Tears are in his eyes yet refuse to fall, making Jinyoung and Jaebeom nothing but two blurred figures.

Jinyoung steps forward. “Jacks-”

“You don’t!” He wrenches himself lose from Jaebeom’s grip and swipes an angry arm in the air. “How could you! I never let you know me, I never _wanted_ you to know me! If you truly knew me you would _hate_ me!” The words flow like poison, dripping like a wound in need of cleansing. Jaebeom’s face is nothing short of shocked, Jinyoung’s pained sympathy adding a layer of anger to Jackson’s cracked emotions.

“What are you-” Jinyoung tries, but Jackson’s had enough. He came here to escape a life that was never truly his, to try and salvage what he could before his parents took everything from him. It’s only now he understands it was never their doing, it was his own. It was his own incompetence and his own weakness. It seems strangely fitting that his own twisted desires of leading his own life should end in him fucking it all up.

He spreads his arms as if inviting them to come at him and screams. “I’m gay!”

Jaebeom’s jaw dangles in the air, Jinyoung’s hands coming up as if speaking at a dangerous animal. “...but Jian?” he starts confused.

The tears finally fall and Jackson drops his arms, his limbs suddenly heavy as he stares at the sidewalk. Scornful laughter trickles out. “Jian was the girlfriend I had to please my parents. They know- … they know. They’ve known for three years and it was never going to happen. If I wanted to continue being their son I had to _act_ like it … so I did. I never looked at another guy, never allowed myself to think of myself as anything else but straight, but then- then I met someone,” he confesses shamefully.

Mark was nothing like Jackson had ever seen before and everything he never even knew he needed. Falling for the other came without warning or contingency plan. It messed up Jackson’s entire being when he realized just how deep his feelings for the other went, having always ascribed them to being someone’s best friend.

The week after his painful epiphany, he forced himself to respond to Jian’s continuous advances and shared the bed with her, only to lie in the dark in the middle of the night, Jian’s small body pressed against his and silent tears streaming down his face when Mark invaded his thoughts regardless. That was five months ago.

With gravel in his throat he continues, no longer able to stop the flood of confessions, just as he hadn’t been able to stop them last weekend with his parents. “I met someone and everything came crashing down and I- I told my parents I couldn’t do it anymore.” The tears come faster, something in his chest shrinking. “I told them I couldn’t lie. I’m weak and I’m broken and I couldn’t _pretend_ to be perfect any longer, and I should have seen it coming, I really should have, but I believed _everything_ they told me. I believed them when they said they loved me. I believed them when they said Jian was pregnant. I _believed them_. Even when they said I had to marry her to spare her family the shame, I-”

His voice gives out, once again seeing Jian standing in the sitting room, her belly completely flat and guilt on her face. He may not have loved her romantically, but he always cared. Her part in the lie may have stung the most, even compared to his parents, as it came out that, in the end, it was the promise of wealth and power which swayed her.

And yet, Jackson can’t hate her, can’t even blame her. She was pressured into the relationship as much as he was.

Jinyoung sighs brokenly. “Oh, Jackson.”

He shakes his head sharply, wanting the memory of Jian to leave, wanting the guilt and shame and _pain_ to disappear with the words he’s spitting. “Everything was a lie. They kept making up reasons why Jian didn’t want to see me and I _believed them_. I’m such a fucking _idiot!”_

“You’re not!” Jaebeom shouts, making to grab him, but Jackson steps back, shaking his head as the tears keep coming.

“Everything’s a lie!” He screams, pointing a harsh finger to himself. _“I’m a lie!!”_

It shuts them up and he balls up his shirt in his hand, right over his heart again because all this anguish needs to _leave_.

“I’m gay and I can’t fix it or love a woman or make my family happy or do _anything!!”_ He sobs, pulling on his shirt in short desperate movements because he’s such a failure, he’s _such a fucking failure_. “I flushed my life down the drain, got disowned for refusing to marry a woman and I’m in love with my best fucking friend who will hate me forever when he realizes how much I’ve wanted to kiss him and love him since he bought me an ice-cream on a cliché summer fair!” Which brings back a memory Jackson can’t deal with, brings back Mark’s sunny smile and excited face as he presented a grumbling and basically over-heated Jackson with an ice-cream cone.

Wide-eyed he stares at the sidewalk, his hand uncurling and falling back to his side as everything sinks in deeper and deeper, gouging out pieces of Jackson to make room for all of _this_.

“I’m gay,” he whispers as a fearful conclusion, shocked and rooted to the ground in the face of what he just unleashed.

Silence reigns until a passerby steps up to Jackson and spits at his feet, mouth in a snarl. “Fucking fag,” the man sneers before breezing passed.

Jackson falls a step back, his whole body shaking as the words feel like a physical punch. Tears blur whatever disgusted reactions his friends have waiting for him, but Jackson suddenly finds himself unable to run from it. He’s unloaded everything, laid his soul out bare for the world to pick at, so now he must weather the coming storm. Whether he’ll be able to live with the scars remains to be seen, but for now, he owes it to his friends to let them rage.

He still flinches when Jaebeom moves, aware of exactly how much strength is hiding under the long hoodie and jacket after many mock-fights at the gym, only to be twice as mortified when Jaebeom wraps his arms around him carefully, as if he’s breakable, and tugs Jackson into his chest. Unable to look forward, Jackson lets his head slide sideways, leaning his cheek on Jaebeom’s shoulder while his mind screams ‘danger’.

 _Let it happen. I don’t care_.

After being betrayed by and subsequently _losing_ the people Jackson had built his life around since the day he was born, it surprises him that having his friends reject him still manages to leave him gutted and weak, a shaking mess waiting for someone to put him out of his misery.

“What are you doing,” he eventually croaks at Jaebeom, unable to look at his friends but also unable to close his eyes. The sidewalk blurs and clears, tears sliding out silently as something inside resonates a hurt so deep he’s unsure if there even _is_ a beginning to it, or if pain is all he’s become.

Jaebeom’s breath ghosts over his neck, voice low and emotional. “I’m holding you. I’m loving you, and-” his voice cracks and he clears his throat, the action sending a shiver down Jackson’s spine. “And I’m going to keep doing both until you’re once again able to do it yourself.”

Jackson’s chest breaks open as he reaches out desperately, blindly, to grab hold of this single piece of shelter he’s managed to stumble on. “Don’t lie,” he sobs, burying his face into Jaebeom’s tense shoulder and hiding in the coarse jeans of his jacket. “Don’t lie about that, please.”

“We’re not lying.” Jinyoung’s warmth presses against his back, two more arms pushing them all closer together. His voice sounds choked, and then a trembling wetness comes to rest on Jackson’s exposed neck. Jackson can feel it when Jinyoung speaks again, the scruff from the younger’s cheek rubbing right above his collar.

“It’s okay to be gay, Jackson. It’s more than okay, it’s completely natural. And I know that sounds like nothing right now, that maybe you can’t listen to it just yet, but we’re right here for you. And-I...what you went through, what you were forced to do, hiding yourself like that, I’m just- I’m so sorry you went through that. Alone. I’m so sorry.”

Jaebeom tightens his grip. “We’re here Jackson,” he murmurs wetly, “we’re right here, and we’re not leaving you alone.”

The words burn. They scorch across whatever he still holds inside, but it’s the best pain. There is an ugly part that whispers contradictions, that whispers they’re lying and betraying, luring him in before destroying him, but Jackson’s too raw to do much about it. If this is a trap, if it’s all just a fib, then there’s nothing he can do about the inevitable implosion.

“I love you guys,” he grates, tears still on his cheeks but breaths marginally better if he forces his chest into responding.

Jinyoung gingerly pulls away, stepping around to stand side by side with Jaebeom as he too carefully releases Jackson. Both have drawn looks, eyes red and expression raw to the point of hurt. It makes Jackson hide his face in his own hands so as to miss their reaction to his words, unsure whether they’ll be as understanding when faced with the possibility of holding Jackson’s affections.

Not that either of them does. Jackson’s love is much more cliché than that.

“Jackson?” Jaebeom takes a hold of his hands and carefully but firmly pulls them down. It leaves the younger with an unobstructed view of his friends and he takes a deep, stuttering breath …

Jackson blinks three times when he sees them holding hands. When he sees them with _interlocked fingers_. He brings his wet gaze to Jaebeom, fearful of it all being a practical joke to make fun of him, until he catches the softest expression he has ever seen on his hyung’s face; a small smile and sparkling eyes as Jaebeom whispers reverently, swinging their interlocked hands.

“I love you too, Jackson. But if we’re talking romantically, then I’m afraid my heart belongs to Jinyoung.” The cheesy words color Jaebeom’s cheeks, but he never breaks eye-contact.

The noises of the night flood in as Jackson tries to understand if he’s being played. He switches from looking at their hands (intertwined, they’re _intertwined_ ) to their faces, and back to their hands. When faced with nothing but sincerity a whole six honks and three passing cars later, Jackson blinks left-over tears out of his eyes and drags a hand down his face.

Then he stares some more. “You two- are you … You’re together?”

Jinyoung nods, biting his lip and ghosting careful fingers down Jackson’s jacket sleeve, as if afraid touching him might shatter something. “We told Youngjae tonight and BamBam and Mark-hyung already knew, so …”

Jaebeom picks up the hanging sentence. “So there’s no way we’d ever condemn you for something as natural as being gay. And we hope you won’t either. With us, I mean.” He brings up their hands, suddenly looking nervous, and Jackson thinks he should cry again, but nothing comes up but a sudden feeling of floating.

“You’re together?” He repeats and this time it’s Jaebeom who nods.

“And you’re happy?”

They both nod, Jinyoung smiling sweetly.

Jackson can’t return it, can’t make his face do the necessary movements, so he pulls them back in for a hug, his head nestled in between theirs’.

“I’m so happy for you two,” he whispers, trying to find the emotion somewhere in the no-longer-being-gutted mess that is his soul. With effort he manages a teary smile as he pulls back, squeezing them both in the shoulder. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t really show well, but I’m really happy for you.”

They both wave the apology away, cheeks red and smiles wide. Jinyoung’s expression suddenly sets, the face he wears when he’s made a decision he will _not_ be swayed from. Swiftly, he grabs Jackson’s hand as he lets go of Jaebeom and pulls him back to the club. Jackson staggers and feels an icy spike of fear.

“I can’t,” he eyes the building with a quickened heartrate and digs in his heels. “Jinyoungie, I can’t face anyone in there. I just-”

To his utter confusion, Jinyoung chuckles. Even Jaebeom looks affronted as he steps up to Jinyoung.

“It’s not funny, Jinyoung-ah-”

“No, guys, it’s okay,” Jinyoung shakes his head, still laughing. “I’m pretty sure BamBam doesn’t really know this, but there’s a reason this place is his favorite bar.

Jackson is relieved when Jaebeom looks just as confused as he feels.

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “This place is basically an unofficial gay bar.”

Jackson feels his mouth drop and Jaebeom raises both eyebrows beside him. Jinyoung dares to keep chuckling, once again pulling Jackson along. With this new information, the other goes willingly, still unsure but also curious.

“Are you sure?” Jaebeom eyes the place all over again when they make their way back inside, obviously gaping at the lavish decoration and design and finally making the connection.

“Yup,” Jinyoung half-shouts proudly, leading them towards the stairs, still holding Jackson. “BamBam loves this place because he can pick up girls _and_ boys here, though I’m sure he thinks he simply has excellent gaydar.” He looks back at Jaebeom, then at Jackson and deadpans. “He doesn’t.”

Jaebeom snorts. “You got that right.” He leans in closer to Jackson as they go up the stairs and shouts. “BamBam had _no clue_ the two of us liked each other. He was salty about it for _days_.”

Which sounds like BamBam alright. It makes Jackson smile minimally, his unease returning full force now that they’re almost at the top of the stairs. He, of course, had known that BamBam is bisexual, they all knew, but no one ever spoke about it. BamBam never talked about any boys he may or may not have picked up, only girls, and Jackson, being so deeply devoted to pretending to be straight himself, had used that as a way to convince himself BamBam was as well.

Of course, his subconscious had never truly forgotten, immediately picking him as the person to meet up with first, even though Mark and Jinyoung had always been his closest friends. Then again, Mark had been instantly deleted as an option due to _other_ reasons.

Speaking of.

The door to their room comes into view and, clearing the last step of the stairs, Jackson’s legs become heavy. His whole body goes hot and cold, fear biting into his chest and arms with tiny pinpricks. Before Jaebeom can reach to the room, Jackson goes rigid, mind working overtime to try and postpone what he knows is on the other side of that door.

_Mark._

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he blurts out, yanking his arm from Jinyoung and bringing their focus back to him, thankfully, before Jaebeom can open the door. They share a look.

“Okay,” Jinyoung begins carefully, “but, Jackson?”

He stills before he can walk away, guilty eyes shooting up to meet his friend’s understanding and anxious ones.

“Please, don’t run away.”

For a second Jackson thinks of lying, thinks of playing _them_ before they can play _him_ , but then scolds the mean voice in his head for continuously doubting his best friends. With effort he draws in a breath and promises. “I won’t. I just need a minute.”

Jinyoung sends him a grateful smile and Jaebeom pats his arm. Even if Jackson had been thinking of leaving two seconds ago, there’s no way he could do it now. With a heavy heart he speed-walks to the bathroom, having spotted the sign as they went up the stairs, and wrenches the door open to escape whatever it is he’ll have to face later.

He takes two quick steps inside, freezing when he spots someone familiar, and can’t bring himself to speak until the door clicks closed, the music being muffled instantaneously.

Jackson breathes, “Mark-hyung?” A shiver runs down the length of his body as he locks eyes with the one person he’d been trying so hard to avoid.


	2. It Begins With the Lies We Tell Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV skips and time skips/flash backs are purposefully convoluted and a little disorienting in this one chapter. If you can, please bear with me. It's all for the sake of unravelling this twisted thing.

_Jackson takes two quick steps inside the bathroom, freezing when he spots someone familiar, and can’t bring himself to speak until the door clicks closed, the music being muffled instantaneously._

_Jackson breathes, “Mark-hyung?” A shiver runs down the length of his body as he locks eyes with the one person he’d been trying so hard to avoid._

A voice cuts in. “We’re trying to have a conversation here, man. Maybe you can give us a minute?” 

The guy is about Jackson’s height. His light hair sits messily on his head and contrasts with the dark, fancy suit he’s wearing, the first two buttons undone. But the sneer on his face and coldness of his eyes clash with his words, adding an edge of disdain. Not that Jackson cares much what he looks like, or what he said. The words went in one ear and out the other, simple background noise to Jackson’s heart suddenly thundering in his head.

The guy has Mark against the wall, one hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head up sharply, while the other is wrapped tight around Mark’s throat. His hyung’s eyes are locked on his, blossoming fear on his face as he rasps breathlessly. “Run.”

Which is just never going to happen. Jackson almost scoffs at the idea alone, his chest suddenly too breezy and too full all at once. As desperately as he wanted to run away from Mark mere minutes before, that’s how rooted to the ground he is now.

Mark’s hands pry at the hand closing off his airways, a redness to his cheek indicating he’s been hit as his legs scrabble on the floor for purchase. The man holding him was clever enough to tilt his hips in such a way that Mark can’t knee him in the crotch to weaken him. The knowledge hits Jackson’s mind all at the same time, cataloguing how the fucker turns back to Mark with an off-balance glint in his eyes, Mark’s mouth working to form words while having no breath left to do so even as his body’s attempts to fight off a guy almost twice his width are becoming ever more sporadic and desperate.

It all clicks in no more than a second, the words the man spoke rushing into Jackson’s brain like a sickening echo, and without commanding his body, without thinking through his actions, Jackson moves.

Mark is being hurt, and Jackson moves. He really can’t make it any simpler than that.

“Get your fucking hands off him.” His voice sounds nothing like him, low and grating and inches away from lighting someone’s pathetic ass on fire. The man turns back just as Jackson throws his punch. The fucker yells and ducks but still receives the brunt of it on his nose. The crunch Jackson feels and hears is satisfying, the throb and tightness in his hand definitely worth the blubbering and cursing now happening on the floor, but the second crunch leaves him reeling, head snapping back in time to watch Mark crumple to the ground, his head leaving a small red trail along the white and black chequered wall.

Ice doesn’t begin to describe the coldness in Jackson’s chest, something so fierce rushing up his windpipe that breathing no longer seems like an option. The explanation hits too late, Jackson only now realizing what happened and the part he played in it.

As Jackson went to hit him, the guy pushed off to try and avoid the fist. The thing he pushed off of was Mark, effectively slamming the older’s head straight into an unforgiving wall.

“No,” Jackson breaths, begs, _prays_. “no, no, no, Mark-hyung!” He’s on his knees, hands hovering above his friend because a voice somewhere recites at him to not move people who may have serious head or neck injuries. Jackson can’t decide whether this counts and feels powerless and terrified.

Mark doesn’t move. Mark doesn’t wake up.

The door opens. “Jack- Mark-hyung!” Jinyoung yells, kneeling next to Jackson in two quick strides, hands going to Mark’s face and doing precisely what Jackson was too scared to do; slapping Mark’s cheeks gently yet urgently.

A sudden scream behind them is accompanied with a slam, something colliding with the wall. Then Jaebeom hisses in unbottled fury. “Hello you fucker, remember me? I promised I’d break you if you ever touched him again and I’m a man of my word.”

Then there’s the sound of fists hitting flesh, a few more nonsensical screams, then silence.

Jackson never even turns around to look. His hands keep shaking, hanging just above Mark as Jinyoung tries and fails to rise their friend. Mark’s chest is moving but the rest of him _isn’t_ and Jackson keeps replaying _myfaultmyfaultmyfault_ in his head.

“Ambulance,” Jackson whispers, and Jinyoung stares at him, uncertain. Once the word has tumbled passed his lips however, Jackson finally realizes what he needs to do, what _Mark_ needs.

“An ambulance!” He shouts, head flying up and hands patting his pants pocket. “He needs an ambulance!”

Jinyoung steals his phone out of his hands and grabs his face in the same movement, forcing their eyes to link. “Hyung, stop!”

“Gaga.” The soft murmur does more than anything Jinyoung could have hoped to achieve, catching Jackson’s attention completely. It’s the voice of heaven answering a prayer when Jackson leans down and catches Mark’s eyes half-lidded, looking up to stare at him.

Mark gives a weak smile and croaks. “Hey. Welcome back.”

There’s no answer to give as Jackson feels like he’s coming undone for the second time that night, staring at Mark’s smile and still shaking from a terror so great, it stole the warmth from his bones.

“Hyung,” he chokes, lungs working double-time to keep up with his rapid breathing. Then, without thinking and without any common sense to stop him, he leans forward to press his forehead into Mark’s upper arm, leaning on the other as he gulps in mouthful after mouthful of, what feels like, the first breaths he’s taken in days. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispers, slowly burying his hands in the fabric of Mark’s jacket, relishing the feeling of something physical keeping him tethered to the man who unknowingly holds his heart.

“I’m okay, Gaga, but could you let me get up?”

Jackson reluctantly lets go, drawing his hands back before lifting his head, smiling despite the rollercoaster of tonight when he sees the gorgeous beginnings of a cheeky smile.

“The floor is cold,” Mark pouts overly-dramatic.

A chorus of relieved laughs and wet sniffles echoes, and Jackson knows he’s irrevocably screwed. All he needs is a smile and a look, a simple _presence_ for warmth to bloom in his chest. Mark is Jackson’s everything. 

He shuffles back when BamBam rushes a man, a doctor, named Kim Seokjin into the room. He watches Mark answer what hurts and what happened, feels the chilling fury creep back up when two security guards come to haul the fucker’s unconscious body out of the bathroom.

Jackson watches Mark smile and reassure their friends, reassure _him_ , and finally comes to the unbreakable, irrevocable conclusion that Mark Yien Tuan will hold his heart forever, that high-pitched-laugh-, pouty-face-, more-possessive-than-a-momma-bear, _utterly straight_ Mark is Jackson’s cliché forever after, and that if he were to disappear from Jackson’s life, then life itself would no longer be worth living.

Jackson watches his friends with a frozen expression and remembers why he wanted to get drunk with BamBam in the first place.

He’s fucked.

* * *

_The door to the bathroom opens, letting in a blast of something poppy and upbeat, before automatically falling closed. It’s the push Mark needs to straighten up and duck his head down, taking one more deep breath he spins on his heel and walks-_

_-walks straight into someone’s chest, someone only slightly taller but broad shouldered, a confused yet familiar voice ringing out. “Mark-hyung?”_

Josung sounds as surprised as Mark feels, eyes widening and blinking confusedly. “What are you doing here?”

Before the question ends, Mark has already taken two quick steps back, the wall stopping him when he accidentally misjudges and ends up flush against it. It’s a mistake he doesn’t realize he’s made until Josung takes two large steps forward and boxes him in in the corner. Mark throws his hands up without thinking, pushing back with a snarl before snatching them away again when Josung only grins at him. The last thing he wants to do is _touch_ this creep.

“Move,” he orders with narrowed eyes. His heart races and his hands turn clammy where they’re now pressed against the cool wall behind him. Josung simply grins more.

“I never thought I’d see you again after how you ran out on me.” His face turns stormy. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Without warning he lunges forward, leaving Mark with no time to react before he’s tasting something sweet and alcoholic, Josung’s lips demanding and stupidly soft from whatever lip balm he used. It enrages Mark as much as it scares him, having this sleazebag stealing kisses that were never meant to be his, and Mark snaps his head to the side, pushing off the wall and shouldering the other backwards. He needs space to lay this asshole on the ground.

Josung obviously hadn’t been expecting resistance, perhaps convinced Mark’s lack of obvious muscle mass makes him meek out of default. Following Josung’s backwards movement, Mark steps forward to trip the man up, holding onto one shoulder to ensure he won’t completely crack his head on the harsh tiles.

Then Josung turns the tables. He yanks on Mark’s arm, causing the older to over-balance. With a yell, Mark stumbles forward, no longer in control. Josung uses his distraction to right himself, grabbing Mark’s arm as leverage to once again push Mark against the wall. This time, however, the cold tiles bite into Mark’s skull with a sharp ‘clack’, pain spiking at the back of his head as his teeth knock together. It’s dizzying and nauseating. Before his vision rights itself, limbs suddenly tingly and unresponsive, a fist connects with his left cheek.

The impact careens him to the side, his legs folding from the earlier vertigo, and then pain spikes above his right ear. His scream echoes in the bathroom, tapering off into a groan as he uses the counter he slammed into to try and right himself. The room sways once before settling as he gets up on shaky legs, the taste of blood in his mouth as his head throbs in two places.

“You don’t push me,” Josung snarls. He shakes out his fist, giving Mark less than a second of breathing room before pouncing. The first hand grabs Mark’s hair and yanks, pulling out strands and forcing his head up and against the wall. Tears sting the corners of his eyes as his sensitive skull is once again forced into the wall.

“Fuck yo-” Mark starts, only to be cut off when Josung’s second hand wraps around his throat. It’s not a kinky thing nor a threat. The other squeezes with enough power to make Mark’s head feel bloated and painful, air no longer able to enter his lungs.

Josung leans in closer and purrs. “Tempting, but you hurt me, Mark-hyung. You left without saying goodbye.” He’s pushed up against Mark’s side, their hips touching as Mark realizes he’s panicking. He needs to calm down, needs to do something smarter than simply scrabble at the hand on his throat, but conscious thought is difficult to achieve. Instinct has taken over as the edges of his vision blur, darkness creeping in while his mouth gasps out nothing audible. Josung’s lips brush over his ear, soft kisses trailing down his cheek and neck as his head feels close to exploding and Mark realizes too late he should have been going for _Josung's head_. His limbs are heavy, hands clumsy as he makes a wild grab for the other’s hair to pull, punch, _anything_ , only to land on his shoulder. Bucking against the other does nothing, Josung’s size and muscle mass pinning Mark securely.

When Josung’s hand loosens, air rushing into Mark’s windpipe with all the desperation of a starving man, it takes two beats before Mark realizes _why_. His vision clears when air reaches his brain, limbs shaking and barely still holding him up. Josung speaks, his voice cold and threatening, which makes Mark’s stomach disappear when he finally sees _who_ he’s speaking to.

Jackson stands frozen, his red eyes wide and focused on Mark, hands hanging by his sides while his chest heaves as if he ran all the way up here from outside. Mark hopes he didn’t, prays Jackson will leave before Josung sets his eyes on him. He draws in enough air to rasp a single desperate plea.

“Run.”

It causes Josung to tighten his hold again, his fierce snarl coming back to focus on Mark with every intention to finish whatever this was going towards. But Mark forgets to fight back, forgets his earlier epiphany when Jackson doesn’t move. The words to order the younger to leave are formed but not heard, no more air left to force them out even when Mark digs his fingers as hard as he can into Josung’s arm.

He’ll never forgive himself if Josung hurts Jackson, will never forgive himself for bringing this stain upon humanity into Jackson’s orbit. His vision goes wonky again, skull tight and lungs on fire. Then he swears Jackson teleports. One second he’s standing by the door, then he’s almost close enough to touch, fist swinging with an expression so frigid it throws Mark. The fist comes too close and Mark thinks Jackson might be aiming for _him_ , but then it hits Josung and the man yells. The bathroom tilts, Mark’s legs folding when a pressure snaps him sideways. His head screams.

Blinking takes too long. He’s sideways, then he’s down. Screams echo. Mark closes his eyes against the pain. Something is stabbing his head. He hit it again.

Sleep sounds good.

Sleep is bad.

Jackson begs him. Jackson is scared.

It takes too long for the thoughts to stop being syrupy, to stop lagging behind after every new input. Jinyoung’s voice filters in at the same time Mark realizes he’s cold, but then he knows he should have thought of that sooner because he’s on his side on the floor.

Jackson sounds scared again. Someone’s hands are warm on his cheek. The fact that the tiles are blurry comes in before he connects it to his eyes being open. Knees in front of his face. Two pairs.

“He needs an ambulance!” Jackson still sounds scared. The knees move. It brings a tired smile to his face when Mark shifts his eyes and Jackson is right there, right beside him. Jackson isn’t gone, isn’t running, isn’t looking at him like he’s less than dirt.

Jackson has tears on his face and looks ashen, eyes now on Jinyoung as the younger grabs his attention.

Mark wants that too. He wants the attention. He wants Jackson.

“Gaga,” he tries. The floor is still cold and his limbs are heavy but thoughts are starting to pick up. More information comes leaking in; the music being loud again, Jaebeom talking off to the side, Youngjae’s voice panicking, but Jackson’s eyes make it all moot. When they focus on Mark it’s wondrous and soft as Mark doesn’t stop himself from feeling everything he pushed away for months. He smiles because it’s Jackson, because the other is _here_. “Hey. Welcome back.”

Jackson sags. Tension runs out as if he’s a faucet, chest heaving up and down in large, deep breaths. His eyes never leave Mark’s, giving the older a warm glow in his stomach when on the receiving end of this much attention. Then Jackson’s tipping forward. He buries his head on Mark’s arm, the pressure sending tingles down Mark’s limbs and creating a smile despite the pain in his head. He feels he could have broken bones right now, and Jackson’s touch would still make it feel okay. Would still make _him_ okay. It’s not something he usually allows himself to revel in, this level of attention from Jackson, especially when the other means nothing by it and Mark reads far too deep into it, but a headache-bordering-on-concussion helps to ignore logic and reason. The hands creeping into Mark’s jacket by his chest, holding on as Jackson breathes reassurances to himself, bring the first fringes of pain to Mark’s soul, hinting to a future-dream of having Jackson close like this without having to hide.

It’s bittersweet in every sense of the word, causing Mark to fall back to what he does best; ignorance. He smiles and shifts a bit. “I’m okay, Gaga,” he promises as best he can, “but could you let me get up?”

Jackson moves slowly, his withdrawn hands making Mark wish he could reach out and hold them in something else but casual friendship. Then those intense eyes are back on Mark, checking him over and softening to the point it puts a strain on Mark’s heart. He basks in the warmth for as long as his scrambled brain lets him, grinning weakly, adding a pout to his next words in the hope it’ll stop Jackson’s mouth from sitting in such a grim line.

“The floor is cold.” Mark smiles for real afterwards when Jackson’s shell breaks, the first hint of a smile trembling on his lips as Jinyoung hooks his hands carefully under Mark’s arms, helping the older to sit up.

Jackson moves back, shuffling further towards the middle of the bathroom when BamBam comes running in with a doctor behind him, the man flashing a disarming smile and introducing himself as Kim Seokjin. He takes Jackson’s spot, making Mark’s chest a bit colder, but a rush of _something_ shoots through him when he sees Jackson’s eyes focused on nothing but him over Seokjin’s right shoulder.

The doctor asks for his attention, one delicate hand softly checking his heated cheek for breaks.

“Can you tell me what happened?” The man speaks clearly, catching Mark’s eyes and smiling. “Tuan Mark-shi, right? Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

Right.

Mark’s eyes flit to Seokjin’s right again, catching Jackson’s gaze without fail as the other stares unflinchingly. The situation becomes ever more clear, Mark’s happy cloud dispersing to show all the worry and fear plastered on the faces around him. It’s written all over Jackson’s face as well; his inertia and single-minded focus much more telling than any words.

Mark clears his puffy and swollen throat, only able to speak softly with a light rasp. “Just Mark, please,” he tries to return Seokjin’s smile. “And it’s mostly my head. I hit it.”

Seokjin frowns and his fingers move to the fringes of Mark’s hair. “Can you tell me where exactly?”

A muffled curse off the side draws Mark’s attention. Jaebeom’s standing ramrod straight, hands balled at his sides and eyes glaring a hole into the floor … or not the floor. For the first time Mark spots Josung lying slumped against the door of the first stall, nose bleeding and red and blue coloring his cheek. Jaebeom looks seconds away from going in for a second round.

Mark clears his throat. “Jaebeom-ah.” The other’s eyes fly to him, furious and pained.

“I’m okay,” Mark insists. “Just a little headache.”

Seokjin frowns. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now, where is the pain centered?”

Mark gives Jaebeom another imploring look, hoping beyond hope the other understands that _please, don’t get yourself arrested_ is the endgame here. He flinches when Seokjin brushes over the throbbing line above his right ear from where he hit the counter.

“Ah,” the doctor looks apologetic, “sorry about that. But may I presume that’s where the pain is?”

“Yeah,” Mark croaks, then points to his left side as well. “Here too.” 

Jinyoung groans, eyes sad and hand flying to cover his mouth. “Oh, hyung.”

Jaebeom hisses and turns away, foot twitching with a clear desire to kick the unconscious man, and a half-sob from near the door reveals a white-faced BamBam holding a clearly teary eyed Youngjae.

“I’m okay,” Mark repeats, hating to see such sadness in his friends. His heart plummets as he finally realizes how much the others will want to know after this, and how much Mark would give anything not to tell them. He forces his smile into something easier though his voice stays rough. “I swear, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

Jackson’s eyes keep boring into him, seemingly stripping away all of his easy lies and unearthing the secret core within. It scares Mark to think how much Jackson makes him feel, even now.

Seokjin’s hands have moved to the other side of his head, prodding and gently sifting through his hair. When he takes them back, Mark spots a few streaks of blood on them, suddenly realizing why Youngjae is hiding in BamBam’s shoulder.

“You’re a lucky man,” the doctor says, causing a rush of held breaths to be released. The man smiles. “You cracked your skin open and might have a headache, but I’m not seeing any signs of a concussion. So, it’s nothing some rest won’t help with. The wound on your head bled a bit, but it’s already slowing down, so I would recommend leaving it alone for it to close naturally. That unfortunately means no washing your hair for two, three days, though I hope you can cope.” He smirks, one eyebrow going up, and Mark cracks his own smile.

“I think I’ll live.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin answers absentmindedly, his frown back on his face. He turns to Jinyoung. “Did his voice sound like that earlier this evening?”

Mark almost glares at him for asking his friends. Can’t this guy see he’s trying his damn hardest to keep them _out_ of this! But Jinyoung’s reaction is instantaneous, head already shaking before he’s talking.

“No. He was fine about twenty minutes ago. Why?”

Seokjin goes to open his mouth, but then voices from the hallway get louder and two people squeeze into the ever-dwindling space of the bathroom. Seokjin sighs in relief.

“Jungkook-ah, Jimin, thank _god_ you two are here tonight.” He points at Josung still unconscious at the feet of - and seemingly being watched by - Jaebeom. “Can you please take him downstairs and to the back. I’ll follow in a minute but I’m sure he’s well enough to be moved,-” his sharp eyes cut to Jaebeom- “right?”

Jaebeom keeps glaring at Josung and Mark is suddenly insanely glad Jinyoung is present to keep Jaebeom from losing himself.

“Yes,” Jaebeom grounds out, nudging Josung with a disdainful foot, “unfortunately.”

The two guards hoist Josung up with apparent ease, marching him out of the room. It ignites a bitter pang of jealousy in Mark. Maybe if he had strength like that, he wouldn’t be _in_ this stupid mess. His eyes jump away from the scene, flitting around the room to distract himself from how stupidly _vulnerable_ he feels now. Within seconds he finds Jackson again, drawn to the man unconsciously, but almost recoils when the other’s stare is still solely focused on him. Jackson’s expression is utterly serious, a hint of melancholy in the lines by his eyes, but the bright lights of the room highlight the shadows under them, betraying a fatigue beyond a late night out.

The guilt eats away at Mark’s insides; this was the opposite of what he was supposed to do tonight. After all of his careful planning to ease some of Jackson’s worries, to carry those burdens all by himself, Mark only adds to the sagging shoulders of his best friend because he’d stupidly thought that hooking up with other people would make all these pesky feelings around Jackson disappear.

Cue Josung and a night to _not_ remember, literally. Mark’s memory of that night cuts off somewhere between agreeing to go home with a charming and flirty Josung, and drinking a glass of soda. Then he wakes up, bruises everywhere, the smell of sex clinging to his skin like glue and one eye swollen shut.

Only Jaebeom and Jinyoung know. The others simply think he went to America to deal with some family issues while in reality he laid on his couch waiting for the bruises to fade.

It’s not unlike how he feels now, slouched against a bathroom wall, an unfamiliar doctor picking him apart and telling him all of his weak spots. The thing to make it worse would be the addition of his friends spread around in a semi-circle and Jackson’s single-minded, single-focused stare.

It’s no longer nice to have his attention, it’s shameful.

Jinyoung doesn’t fail in bringing the attention back to Mark and his failures, unintentionally deepening his dark thoughts as he desperately tries to hold onto his easy smile.

“Why is his voice important?” Jinyoung inquires

Seokjin seems to turn something over in his head before he answers. “It might not be but,” he turns to Mark, “did anything happen to your throat?” His hands are already pointing at his black turtleneck, silently asking to take a look. Mark knows that refusing will ramp up the worry to one-hundred, but letting them see might not be any better. He decides the path of least resistance will be bad enough; no need to make it any worse.

He grabs his collar and pulls it down, letting Seokjin take over half-way through. “He grabbed me,” he clarifies, wondering if he even needs to with the way Jinyoung goes rigid and Jaebeom’s eyes pierce the floor where Josung was, as if will alone can inflict injury.

Seokjin’s smile falls, face suddenly older and serious. “Do you feel any pain when you swallow?”

Mark hates how his friends are all holding their breaths, Jackson’s complete stillness now starting to worry him. He swallows and shakes his head, hoping to be done with this as soon as possible so that the others can smile again.

Seokjin hums and pushes Mark’s collar back in place, leaning back on his haunches. “Do you have a sore throat? Or any pain in your neck?”

Another quick check and headshake.

“Any dizziness or weird things in your field of vision?”

Mark really wants to lie, but can practically feel Jinyoung’s pleading gaze guilt-tripping him into being honest.

“I was dizzy,” he confesses, “but that happened after I hit my head.”

“Are you dizzy now?” Seokjin presses.

“No. Just tired.”

At that Seokjin smiles again. “I’ll bet.” He releases a sigh and grins. “Well, you don’t need a hospital, though I wouldn’t leave him alone for the night,” he tells the others and receives a chorus of ‘we wouldn’t dream of it!’

“Other than that, keep an eye on your head and your throat. Any returning dizziness, nausea or something feeling wrong with your throat, and you should see your physician immediately, understood.”

Mark nods, hoping this’ll be the end of it. His eyes keep shooting to Jackson, the icy patch in his stomach growing the longer the other goes without moving.

“Alright,” Seokjin pushes himself up and turns towards Jaebeom. “In that case I’ll be downstairs. The police are on their way and probably want to talk to all of you. Yugyeom says you have a rented room, so if you could wait there, I’ll send them up when they get here.” He turns back to Mark one last time. “I’ll also send Jungkook up with an ice-pack for your cheek. Use it.”

Jinyoung is nodding before Mark can. “He will.”

With that, Seokjin is out the door, Jinyoung already turning back to Mark.

“Are you okay to stand up?”

Mark almost snaps at him, just about done feeling this small and useless, but the sincere worry on his friend’s face keeps the words stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” he eventually croaks, holding out a hand. “I’m good.”

Jinyoung grabs his arm, not letting go even when Mark is standing and, surprisingly, doesn’t even feel any vertigo. His eyes fly to Jackson’s still kneeling figure, his worry finally spilling over in a single word. “Jackson?”

The man in questions jerks, eyes flying up to meet Mark’s. For a lack of better things to say, Mark falls back onto the safe and expected words between friends. “You okay?”

Jackson nods, then his eyes drop to his right hand held loosely cradled in his lap. “I’m fine, hyung. It doesn’t really hurt.”

Which is a confession in Jackson-speak, Mark tearing himself a new one when Jackson’s red and swollen hand only _now_ registers. The other seems to think this is what Mark was hinting at all along, and not the sagging shoulders and pale face, so Mark lets him. It’s much easier to explain away worry over a potentially busted hand, than a bordering-on-sleepless-nights-need to know the other is genuinely happy.

Because they’re good friends. Just that.

Jaebeom crouches next to Jackson, eyeing his hand. “You should probably still have it looked at, just in case.” He doesn’t wait for any form of agreement or protest, hauling Jackson to his feet remarkably easy and turning to Jinyoung. “I’ll go with him downstairs, see if I can find Seokjin.”

Jinyoung nods. “Make sure he puts some ice on it either way.”

Then he’s tugging Mark away, pointing the younger two ahead. With reluctant steps, Mark follows his friends out of the bathroom, eyes lingering on Jackson and Jaebeom, seeing the latter throw an arm around the former and feeling a, by now familiar stab when Jackson readily leans into it.

Because Jackson is friendly with everyone, and all those touches he and Mark have shared never meant anything more.

It’s stupid how much that thought still hurts. Though not as much as the knowledge that Jackson is already stressed, having his whole life speed up to a thousand in a few measly months, and now Mark heaps on an extra helping of worries. It churns in his gut and drags his mood down. With a groan he sinks into the couch, Jinyoung finally releasing his arm, and tips his head back to rest it on the couch cushions.

“Fuck,” Mark croaks heartfelt at the ceiling.

Jinyoung snorts. “Language, hyung.”

“I earned that ‘fuck’.”

It’s silent and Mark peeks at his friend seated on the other end of the couch. Jinyoung’s smile is equal parts sad and sorry. “Yeah, I guess you did.”

Youngjae and BamBam descend on him before he can address the sudden pain on Jinyoung’s face, and by the time they’ve seated themselves around Mark, Youngjae plastered to his side and BamBam on the armrest, the expression is gone.

“Hyung, are you sure you’re okay?” BamBam prods. His hand is softly massaging Mark’s right shoulder, the only part he’s apparently not afraid to touch.

Mark hums into Youngjae’s shoulder, having claimed it as his personal pillow for however long they need to wait here for. “I’m fine, Bammie. I’ve got a thick skull.” 

BamBam’s voice goes cold. “That’s so not funny.”

“Bam-”

“Don’t,” his voice cracks and he squeezes Mark’s shoulder. “Just don’t, hyung. I’m not sixteen anymore.”

They fall silent and Mark bites his lip to keep his anger at himself inside. Whatever he tries to do, he just makes a bigger mess of things. He tried to help Jackson relax, but only heaped more on his plate. He tried to keep his youngest friends from worrying, and failed the second they met. Not to mention the stress he put Jinyoung and Jaebeom through after the first Josung debacle.

He holds BamBam’s hand still on his shoulder, wishing he could take his worry through touch.

* * *

The rest of the night feels like a prolonged out-of-body experience for Jackson. He and Jaebeom find Seokjin downstairs after running into Jungkook - on his way to deliver a promised cold-pack to Mark - and being pointed to the out-of-sight door into the back part of the club. The hallway is narrow, small rooms at both ends, and the third one on the left reveals Seokjin holding a wad of tissue paper on the still sluggishly bleeding nose of Mark’s attacker.

It’s unclear whether Jackson is holding Jaebeom back, or the other way around, but both have a death grip of the other’s shoulder, and when Seokjin spots them he excuses himself abruptly and crowds them in the doorway.

“Gentlemen,” he starts firmly, eyes pinning them both, “I’ll have no more fighting in my club for tonight.” 

Which, fair enough. Jackson hadn’t been aware this is the owner, and he bows his head tiredly in apology. They step back as Seokjin pulls the door closed behind him and then he assesses them both with a frown.

Jaebeom lets out a sharp breath. “We’re not here for _him,_ we’re here for this.,” he pulls on Jackson’s right arm, both of their hands falling from the other’s shoulder, “Can you see if it’s broken?” He ends hopefully.

Seokjin’s frown melts away, his hands already reaching for Jackson as he examines the swollen red skin. “What happened?” 

They both look at Jackson. The answer seems fairly obvious and Jackson’s unsure why they even bothered with the question in the first place. He lets his eyes drop from Seokjin’s open expression to land on his hands.

“I hit him.” He states. There’s no feeling behind the words, no lingering anger or fear or guilt; nothing. Whatever’s been swirling in his head since all the lies back home made him flee, there’s nothing now. It seems the numbness he’s been hoping for hit sometime in between Mark lying on the floor and Jaebeom guiding him through the club. No matter how much Jackson digs, there are no emotions to be found except for a crushing sense of bone-deep exhaustion.

Seokjin tuts as he slowly stretches each finger, watching Jackson’s reactions.

“I can see that.” The man says airily, and with a hint of aversion. Which makes sense, Jackson thinks, because BamBam introduced him as a doctor.

Seokjin nods once to himself, then releases Jackson’s hand. “Nothing seems broken, but there’s a good amount of swelling going on. I’m going to find you a cold-pack and if the swelling doesn’t go down in two days, go see a doctor.” He turns and disappears into a room further down the hall.

Jackson nods without looking up, hoping Jaebeom was listening because half of those words never even made it to his brain. The air itself feels heavy as he eyes the floor and wonders if he could just … lie down. 

Sleep.

_Forget._

Forget Mark’s smile. Forget the feeling of leaning into him. Forget what it felt like to have those dark eyes focused on him, finding _him_ , in a room full of people. Forget the terror and rage bursting out at the sight of someone hurting Mark.

Mark.

Jackson lets his head hang, leaning into Jaebeom when everything suddenly starts to shake. Desperation seeps in with every breath, eyes closing against a very tell-tale prick because everything _always_ comes back to Mark.

Jaebeom grabs his arm to keep them steady and lets out a confused sound. “Jackson? Is everything okay? Are you hurt somewhere else?” 

“Nowhere physical,” Jackson mumbles honestly.

Footsteps approach. “Is he-”

“He’s tired.” Jaebeom cuts Seokjin off quickly. “He flew in from China tonight.” 

Jackson lifts his head but is unable to conjure up a smile. The ease with which he always found one has fled, a sea of despair and numbness all that’s feeding his actions. It doesn’t deter Seokjin from giving him an encouraging stretch of lips.

“In that case, it’s doctor’s orders to go get some rest as soon as possible.” He carefully drapes the towel covered cold-pack over Jackson’s hand.

“Thank you.” Jackson manages, failing to find the corresponding emotion but hoping the words will mean something regardless. 

Jaebeom also expresses his thanks - his voice thankfully able to _sound_ grateful as well - and then they’re left alone, Seokjin slipping back inside the room to tend to his other patient, and, Jackson suspects, to make sure neither party is given the chance to exchange another punch.

They don’t go back up.

With a few nudges, Jaebeom shuffles them both to the nearest wall to lean against, and then they wait. After the third time the door to the club opens, letting in a random burst of non-muffled music, Jackson releases a long, shuddering sigh. His eyes flit to Jaebeom, noting the tense lines in the older’s face, the way his jaw clenches unconsciously as he glares at the opposite wall. Swallowing a sudden lump he focuses back on the wall as well.

“Thank you,” he says, voice soft and scratchy.

Jaebeom only squeezes his arm.

The police come and go. At least, that’s what it feels like to Jackson. Two officers stand in front of them, voices blending together and questions seemingly arbitrary and repetitive. Jaebeom nudges Jackson twice into answering, shows them Jackson’s swollen hand and gives both of their information.

Then it’s done.

Jackson barely has time to close his eyes, the floor looking ever more tempting, before Jaebeom is dragging him away, phone at his ear.

“Jinyoung-ah,” he speaks fast, “I’m taking Jackson home with me. Can you or BamBam keep an eye on Mark for the night?”

Jackson feels like he should protest, really wants to because he has a very lonely hotel room to get to where no one will ask pesky questions, but then the notion of _Mark_ and _hurt_ pops up again and the words die on his tongue.

Jaebeom smiles minimally. “Thanks, Jinyoung-ah. … Yeah, I will. Good night.” 

The cold air hits Jackson in his chest, tall buildings and streetlights towering over them, a few persistent stars peeking through the light pollution. It’s the alley behind the club, no one but them and a couple of startled pigeons. With determined steps Jaebeom leads them left, hand seemingly attached to Jackson’s arm. His face is still set when the streetlights illuminate it and Jackson knows he should feel _something_ about that.

All he feels is empty.

The world sways, nothing but shadows and circles of light in his vision. Jackson knows that’s bad, knows he’s been awake for too long (30 hours) and spent too much of his depleted energy in this last tumultuous hour. With effort, he follows Jaebeom to his car and drops into the passenger seat, giving nothing but a passing thought to the fact the car is a different color from what he remembers. When Jaebeom drops down next to him, Jackson turns his head and asks the last burning question on his mind.

“Is Mark-hyung going to be okay?”

Jaebeom sighs, long and controlled, his eyes glittering in the half-dark, before nodding once. “BamBam’ll watch him tonight, and tomorrow-”

But Jackson isn’t listening anymore, eyes falling closed as he stops fighting. With the smallest of smiles he passes out, final thoughts echoing like a lullaby.

_Mark will be okay._

* * *

The dreaded question takes some time, and Mark can feel the anxiety building the entire ten minutes. He fidgets with the, by now luke-warm cold-pack one of the guards gave him almost half an hour ago, draping it over one knee and then the other, anything to keep from looking at the other five people present. In their defense, Im Changkyun and Lee Jooheon do their best to get through everything in as little time possible, expressions understanding from the moment they came inside. Apparently, Jaebeom and Jackson had already given their side of things, as well as Josung, and if Mark isn’t completely delusional from the repeated attacks to his skull, then he thinks the officers might be somewhat biased.

He becomes convinced when Im Changkyun calls Josung ‘that shithead who attacked you’, earning him a sharp look from his partner and an approving smirk from Jinyoung. The conversation after that became decidedly less heavy, until Lee Jooheon clears his throat to ask an utterly normal follow-up question, barely glancing up as he does.

“Do you know why Park Josung attacked you?”

BamBam’s muttered ‘because he’s a shithead’ is ignored and Mark catches Jinyoung give him a cautious look. The answer is quite a bit more complicated than both officers are probably expecting, and Mark is bordering on exhausted. With one last sigh and a silent apology to BamBam and Youngjae, Mark decides to just get this over with.

“I’m bisexual.” 

Both Youngjae and BamBam turn wide eyes on him (not because they don’t know, but Mark has _never_ said it this casually), but Mark almost laughs at Changkyun’s flabbergasted look and Jooheon furiously trying to hide he just drew an entire line over his note-pad in shock.

“Are you saying-” Changkyun starts, but Mark just keeps talking. No sense in possible wrong assumptions and guesses.

“I met Josung a month ago in a club,” he explains, feeling BamBam tense next to him. “Not this one, it was _StarShip_ , nearer the center. We had a few drinks, we laughed, and when he invited me back to his place, I figured what the hell.”

Jooheon isn’t writing now, eyes furrowed and focused, while Changkyun’s expression is slowly darkening. There’s no way to be sure whether that’s a bad sign for Mark, but if he just gets it out now, he’ll never have to talk about it again.

Hopefully.

“He gave me something, not sure what, but I think he put it in the soda he offered. After that my memory sort of, -” he mimes a flying motion with his hand- “and then I’m waking up with-” his eyes focus on his knees, hands squeezing together and words tasting like bile because _fuck_ \- “with bruises and a black eye. He- he r-” 

The word gets stuck in his throat, a very different nausea pushing up in the face of confessing this in front of BamBam and Youngjae. He wants to pull a Jackson and run. Screw protocol, screw the law.

Jooheon sighs. “Were there any unwanted sexual actions?”

It’s quite possibly the nicest way to put this, but the room still falls into icy silence, tension becoming almost palpable to Mark as he carefully nods, gaze still locked on his knees. He’s still partially grateful he can’t remember anything from that night, but also utterly disgusted that he can only _guess_ at what Josung did to him.

The silence stretches and Mark, for once, can’t take it. He wrings his hands and wishes Jackson was there, only to realize that Jackson _isn’t and therefore doesn’t know but the others now do_. It sends spikes of horror into his stomach, earlier nausea rising with a vengeance. Jackson doesn’t know yet, but he will soon. Everyone else already knows, and, no matter how much Jaebeom shelters Jackson now, Mark knows his friends won’t let this go for a while.

Jackson is going to find out soon and Mark can’t deal with that thought, doesn’t want Jackson to worry or look as white as BamBam does now or- _or know that someone did God knows what to Mark_.

_Shit._

“It’s in the report I filed.” Mark desperately continues, hoping they’ll just _stop._. He glances up at the officers to be met with two stony expressions. Something shrivels up inside until Changkyun gives him a very tight-lipped smile.

“Who did you file that report with?”

Mark shrugs, seriously considering just making a run for it, but the comforting pressure of Youngjae’s side and BamBam’s hand makes him look Lim Changkyun in the eye with a tired smile. “I think it was an officer named Taesung.”

Before he’s finished both officers are rolling their eyes, Changkyun muttering harshly in English. “Fucking homophobe.”

It brings Jinyoung back into the conversation, eyes sharp and tongue sharper. “Is it a problem that my friend is bisexual? Because-”

Jooheon holds up an apologetic hand. “Not at all, but-” his eyes flit to Changkyun and he grimaces, “unfortunately not all of our colleagues understand that.” 

Changkyun snorts. “He means you-” he points at Mark- “had the misfortune of finding one of the many hypocritical assholes in our department who seem to think same gender love is unforgivable and disgusting unless they can get off on it.”

The opinion is a strange breath of fresh air, leaving Mark and the others somewhat dumbstruck. Not that they mind, but it’s quite honestly the first time Mark has met an officer who has outspoken _positive_ views concerning this topic.

The other officer is somewhat more reserved, hissing in frantic English. “I know, but we can’t just-”

Changkyun waltzes over him in Korean. “Taesung was suspended two weeks ago due to misconduct and basic assholery.”

It draws an amused snort from BamBam, Jooheon flinging his hands in the air as he gives up.

“We’ve been making our way through Josung’s discarded cases, but we haven’t come across yours yet.” He confesses with a sigh, snapping his notepad shut. “Once we have that, we’ll have a little more to work with, though I’m guessing he never actually gathered Josung’s statement?”

Mark honestly isn’t sure, so he shrugs. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Changkyun promises. “In the meantime, you should probably go get some rest.” He smiles at Mark even as he stands up. “You’re starting to look as grey as your friend downstairs.”

Mark frowns. “Which friend?”

“Jackson?” Changkyun guesses as he shrugs on his jacket. “The one with the busted hand.”

“It’s broken?!” Mark knows that was too loud and too worried, knows he should real in the frantic _JacksonJacksonJacksonJackson_ mantra going round and round in his head, but luckily Changkyun doesn’t even blink at his volume.

“No,” he clarifies, “it’s fine, but you both look wrecked. Get some rest, and we’ll contact you when we have that report and this one all filed correctly, okay?”

Jinyoung nods and Mark follows, head still full with _JacksonJacksonJackson_. Is Jackson okay? How bad did he look? Is he mad at Mark for ruining tonight? Is he going to demand answers? When will he be going back? Should Mark tell him? _How much_ should Mark tell him?

 _JacksonJacksonJacksonJackson_.

After a last few bows, the door closes on the officers, nothing but silence for a full 0.43 seconds, and then Youngjae is clinging to Mark like he’ll die if he lets go.

“There was no family thing, was there?” Youngjae accuses with a thick voice. “You never went to America, did you?”

Mark silence is a confession in and of itself. He stands still, unsure whether he should return the hug - if it even is a hug - and hating, hating, hating how much he managed to wreck tonight.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Youngjae. His eyes find BamBam; arms crossed, white-faced and furiously glaring at Mark.

“You lied,” the younger sums up. “You got hurt and you _lied!”_

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Why?” Youngjae pushes back, arms dropping. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because-” Mark grasps for his earlier explanations, furiously tries to recall all of his reasoning (they’re too young, they shouldn’t have to worry, it wasn’t that bad, it’s embarrassing) but finds them all lacking until he looks BamBam straight in the eye, sees the heartache masked as fury, and realizes precisely _why_.

“Because I didn’t want you looking at me the way you are right now,” he croaks. Then he has to avert his eyes, BamBam’s shocked face not helping the painful scratch in his throat.

Youngjae looks just as lost. “What way?”

Mark shrugs, desperate to make this conversation end, but unable to stop at the same time. Maybe if he just pretends it doesn’t hurt, then it won’t. 

He heaves in a wet breath. “Like I’m something to be pitied. Like I’m broken. Like I’m different because he r-”

The word becomes a cough, Mark’s inability to say it going strong. It draws a snarl out of him and he shoves his hand through his hair, frustrated and exhausted at his helplessness.

“No.” Youngjae chokes out, then breathes in deep and shakily continues. “We don’t care about any of that, hyung, we care that he _hurt_ you. Someone hurt you and you didn’t let us help because- I just, we _want_ to help you.” 

Mark looks up to see Youngjae near tears. BamBam is right behind nodding along and biting his lip, eyes glassy but fierce as he jumps in.

“You’re not different, you’re not _broken_. You’re our hyung, our friend. And as your friend I reserve the right, that if someone hurts you, I get to know who that is so I get to hurt them back.”

With two quick steps he’s wrapped around Mark, chest stuttering and mouth right next to Mark’s left ear.

“You’re not broken,” he whispers, “so please don’t think that of yourself.”

Youngjae joins in right after and Mark makes sure to grab them both, rubbing their backs as he breathes.

Just breathe.

They’ve barely scratched the surface of the storm spinning sickeningly in Mark’s stomach, but tonight has been painful enough. His friends have been through _enough_. It’s time Mark remembered he’s the hyung around here.

“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes shooting to Jinyoung who’s holding himself with his mouth in a grim line. The younger nods. 

“I’ll be okay,” Mark promises the two in his arms, slowly letting them go and dragging a soft smile to the surface. He congratulates himself when Youngjae gives a watery one and BamBam just huffs as he scrubs his face.

“Don’t be sorry,” BamBam sniffles shaking his head. “You really don’t need to be.”

Mark concedes with a nod of his head; the other looks like he needs it.

“Let’s go,” Jinyoung finally speaks up, grabbing Youngjae’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we got out of here.” He gives Mark a sharp look, his patented ‘mom’ look as BamBam calls it, and starts to herd them out.

BamBam walks next to Mark, muttering about how his favorite club ‘let him down’, and Mark pulls him in for a side-hug which the younger happily returns. It does nothing for the cold creeping into Mark’s bones as _JacksonJacksonJackson_ keeps pounding into his skull (Jackson will find out, Jackson will know everything, Jackson will hate you) but it allows BamBam to lose some of the tension in his shoulders.

Good enough.

No one mentions it if Youngjae holds Mark a little longer when they say goodbye outside, or when Jinyoung blinks increasingly red eyes, or when BamBam tries a little too hard to keep the conversation light. No one mentions when Mark gives Jinyoung his car keys with slight hesitation (Jaebeom having already left and Mark no longer needing his car as he’s going with BamBam). They simply exchange wobbly smiles and, in Jinyoung’s case, make the others promise to call the next morning.

Mark is proud he keeps up his smile until he’s lying on BamBam’s couch. He downright refused to take the younger’s bed, already guilty enough about the younger running back and forth with a first aid kid, extra pajamas and bedding, and a grim look whenever he saw Mark’s face.

It took ten minutes of needling before BamBam left Mark alone to sleep, then another thirty before the light down the hall turned off.

Mark’s smile slips the second darkness takes over, BamBam’s couch comfortable enough to sleep soundly but Mark’s thoughts whirling non-stop while the promised headache pounds at his skull. The whole night is summed up in one single, whispered word.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all medical knowledge is taken from personal experience of being a patient and numerous google-searches and should therefore NOT be seen as absolute truth or used as self-diagnosis. If you have a head-injury, you consult a doctor. Please.


	3. Until the Secrets Come OUt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to point out again that Mark not going to see a doctor after having hit his head is fiction, pure and simple. In real life, you need to seek medical attention with a head injury, always. (I swear I feel like I've adopted every single reader who comes across this, but meh, I don't care. I love you all, and hope you'll take care of yourselves!)  
> Now, on with the story ;)

The morning after starts too damn early in Jinyoung’s humble opinion, but he’s been staring at Youngjae’s ceiling for the past hour _at least_ , listening to the younger breathe softly next to him in Youngjae’s king-sized bed. It’s barely light out, nothing but a weak grey filtering in from around the curtains, but Jinyoung’s already turned six times and nothing he does will make him go back to sleep.

He glares at the ceiling and sighs. With careful movements he slips out of bed and shuffles out of the room. He breathes a sigh of relief when he’s out in the hallway and Youngjae hasn’t even moved. After everything that came to light last night, the younger deserves every minute of sleep he can get.

The apartment is small but cozy, and Jinyoung finds the kitchen light as he starts opening cabinets to try and find Youngjae’s collection of teas. It’s a well-known fact the younger likes coffee about as much as he does cucumbers, and Jinyoung grins when he spots the numerous boxes of fruity flavored tea tucked in the most right cabinet above the counter. With a little satisfied hum he goes about making something warm and blueberry flavored, eventually ending up on Youngjae’s little two-seater couch.

He’s just turned on the TV, muting it when he spots the time (god, why is he awake at 07:49), when a ringing from the hallway has him almost choking on his tea. He quickly sets the mug down, hissing when some of it splashes onto his hands, and lopes into the hallway to fish his loudly ringing phone from his jacket.

He must have forgotten to turn it off after everything that happened. With a hushed voice he answers when he sees Jaebeom’s name on the screen.

“Jaebeom-ah,” he whispers surprised, sneaking back into the living room and nestling onto the couch. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Jaebeom assures with a slightly sleep-addled voice. “Did I wake you?”

Jinyoung relaxes and leans into the couch. “No, I’ve been awake for a while. Youngjae’s still sleeping though.” He adds to explain his soft murmurs.

Jaebeom hums. “Yeah, same here. Jackson passed out in the car and barely woke up enough to get inside. I swear he’s catching up on a week of missed sleep.”

“His snoring wake you?” Jinyoung guesses with a smile and Jaebeom snorts.

“It’s loud enough, but no. I haven’t really slept.”

Jinyoung frowns, immediately straightening up. “Why? I mean, I can guess what’s keeping you up, but you need to rest, Jaebeom-ah,” he scolds softly. “Jackson’s going to need you and you know I prefer my boyfriend healthy and well-slept.”

It still warms Jinyoung that he can call Jaebeom his boyfriend now, can listen to the other hum along and agree without a second thought. Then Jaebeom groans into the phone.

“Jinyoungie, why are our friends such masochistic and self-sacrificing idiots? Were _we_ such masochistic and self-sacrificing idiots? Because if so, I think I finally understand why Mark-hyung rolled his eyes at me when I told him I like you.”

“Probably,” Jinyoung laughs quietly, remembering Mark’s unphased look when Jinyoung told him, near tears, that he was very, _very_ gay for Jaebeom. “Though after the epic mess of last night, he’s lost his right to tease us about that.”

Jaebeom groans. “Damn, it’s _still_ a mess. What the hell are we going to do with these idiots?”

“Make them confess to each other, obviously.” Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “If need be, we’ll do what Mark-hyung did and just sit them down on a couch and _tell them._ It worked for us.”

Jaebeom sighs. “Jinyoung, you know this isn’t the same as us.”

“Not the _same_ , hyung,” Jinyoung counters, “but close enough. They’re beating themselves up for absolutely _no reason_.” His voice gains a strain of anger as he glares straight ahead at the muted TV. “I’m not watching my friends punish themselves for something they literally congratulated us for. They deserve to be happy, more than anyone.”

“I know,” Jaebeom quickly interjects, “I know, Jinyoung-ah. I agree, but what if pushing them just makes it worse?”

The pleading tone halts the protective fire in Jinyoung’s chest (his friends deserve happiness, damn it!) and he frowns. “What do you mean?”

Jaebeom sighs again, voice dropping. “I mean, Jackson- god, you should have seen him after everything yesterday, Jinyoungie. He’s a mess. He just shut down and barely said twenty words to the cops. I mean, what if he’s not ready to be open about what he feels to Mark-hyung. What if he’s not ready for _Mark-hyung_ to be open about what he feels?”

Jinyoung feels his throat close up, anger warring with grief as he remembers Jackson’s terrifying reaction yesterday. His friend had looked a decade too old and felt much too fragile to be the hyena-laugh, never-stops-talking, smiles-for-every-occasion Jackson that Jinyoung knows to be his best friend.

With a wet sigh he drops his head back on the couch and stares at the dark ceiling with helpless tears burning his eyes. “You’re saying he’ll run if Mark-hyung confesses now.”

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom admits. “I’m not sure about anything, only that Jackson scared me yesterday and Mark-hyung is far from okay, no matter how hard he tries to pretend.” Jaebeom gulps audibly and Jinyoung suddenly wishes he was right there, that he could take his boyfriend into his arms and kiss away the frown he knows the other is sporting.

“Jaebeom-ah,” he says softly. “We’re going to figure this out. Josung’s been arrested and Mark’s with BamBam. You’ve got Jackson, and Youngjae and me are perfectly fine.” His heart squeezes when Jaebeom lets out a wet sigh, and Jinyoung blames the early morning hour for his slow realization. The early phone call coupled with Jaebeom not sleeping; Jinyoung wants to hit himself for not seeing it sooner. 

Jaebeom’s parents died when the other was sixteen. There were no siblings or extended family to fall back on, and Jinyoung knows how utterly protective and defensive Jaebeom is of the small circle of close friends he has managed to gather, knows his boyfriend sees the five others as his family and has a pretty big protective streak to boot. It’s no wonder BamBam sometimes jokingly calls Jaebeom the father of their make-shift little group. And right now, Jaebeom’s instincts to care and protect are probably going haywire.

Jinyoung curses himself for leaving the other alone. He should have known better.

Before he can say as much, Jaebeom’s voice comes through, laced with sadness this time.

“I feel so fucking helpless and I hate it. I wish telling them how the other feels would just fix everything, but you know how damn pissed Mark-hyung was when we found out about _Josung,-”_ he spits the name like it’s poison,- “and the only reason we did was because he opened the door thinking we were delivery guys. He never actually _told us_ , you know. Mark-hyung really _sucks_ at that.”

It’s a petty stab at Mark’s general quiet nature, but Jinyoung sees it for what it is. Jaebeom’s worried beyond reason and it comes out in anger.

“I’m aware,” Jinyoung agrees, “but maybe give him a little more credit. He did tell us about his feelings for Jackson. And-” he falters as last night comes back to him. Mark’s dark expression as he was faced with Youngjae and BamBam _knowing_.

Jaebeom immediately catches his hesitation, voice gaining volume. “And what? Did something else happen?”

“Nothing _bad_ ,” Jinyoung assures him a tad too late and he sighs at Jaebeom’s loaded silence. “I just think we may have been neglecting Mark-hyung’s point of view in all of this.”

Jaebeom sounds confused, anger falling away.

“I mean, Mark’s the oldest.” Jinyoung explains. “But this past month all you and I have been doing is worry about him and take care of him.”

“Well, _yes,”_ Jaebeom hisses, still confused, “because some asshole hurt him-”

“Jaebeom-ah,” He cuts him off with a groan. “he’s our _hyung_. I know he acts like a four-year-old sometimes, but the age difference still matters to him, you know. Look, just think how you’d feel if Youngjae and BamBam had to take care of you for a week, and then _never stopped worrying about you.”_

He stresses it as calmly as he can, having only realized their mistake himself last night when Mark spilled the truth in the face of BamBam’s glare and Youngjae’s tears.

It’s silent for a while and then Jaebeom starts incredulously. “So, I’m supposed to, what, not worry?”

Which is about as likely to happen as Jinyoung becoming as straight as a cue stick.

“That sounds nice,” he responds drily, “but I’d settle for treating him the same as you did before-, just _before_.” 

“I don’t treat him any different!” Jaebeom hisses. “And when did this conversation become about me? Jackson and Mark-hyung-”

“Are perfectly safe right now.” Jinyoung returns just as heatedly, quickly glancing towards the hallway to make sure he’s not being too loud. He repositions himself and takes a deep breath, needing to be a voice of reason in the face of Jaebeom’s protective stubbornness.

“They’re both fine, for now. And yes, we will have to help them through this mess, but I don’t think we’ve been handling it brilliantly so far. Or, at least, we should _stop_ doing what we’ve been doing because it’s not exactly helping the way we want it to.”

“Will you stop talking in riddles and just spit it out,” Jaebeom groans harshly. “I know you’re trying to make some sort of point, but this isn’t making it any clearer.”

Jinyoung fondly rolls his eyes. “Remember how Mark-hyung told us he didn’t want us to worry about him, how he felt like a burden and that’s why he kept it quiet?”

Jaebeom hums in agreement and Jinyoung continues.

“That wasn’t the entire truth. Yesterday, he told BamBam and Youngjae he didn’t want them to look at him with pity, like he’s broken or changed because of what happened.” He takes a deep breath when Jaebeom stays quiet and adds his own two cents. “I think part of Mark-hyung is scared that what happened is going to come in between all of us and him, and I think he’s most terrified of Jackson’s reaction. For obvious reasons.”

Jaebeom is deadly quiet for a second. “So, you’re saying us worrying about him made him feel _damaged_ somehow? And that he thinks that changes how we see him?” he ends incredulously.

Jinyoung sighs and runs a tired hand through his hair. It’s much too early to be talking about something this deep, but it’s probably a good thing they discuss it with Mark and Jackson safely tucked away in dream-land.

“I’m saying you’re right and Mark-hyung is definitely not as okay as he pretends to be, but I’m also saying you’re wrong because I don’t think Mark-hyung needs anymore soft handling and us worrying about him. I’ll admit I’m not sure about Jackson right now, but I do think they need to talk about everything sooner rather than later. I feel like if we leave this now, it’ll just fester into a bigger issue than it already is.” He nods to himself at the end, certain he made at least some good points, and then laughs quietly at Jaebeom’s long groan.

“Jinyoungie, why didn’t you just _start_ with that. 

Jinyoung chuckles. “And risk the wrath of an early-morning Jaebeom by jumping headfirst into things? That would’ve been very counter-productive.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Jaebeom grouches and Jinyoung sniggers into his hand, relief flooding him because if Jaebeom is finding it within himself to joke around then the older has not only understood, but also agreed. 

“How about you just trust your boyfriend who has known you for four years, okay?” He says sweetly.

The other grumbles some more and then sighs. “You really think them talking about it now will help?”

Jinyoung is both touched and scared with how much Jaebeom trusts him. He takes a deep breath and nods. “I really do, but you might be right about the not pushing. I won’t throw them in a room and close the door. I’m pretty sure Mark-hyung will agree he needs to talk to Jackson, but maybe you can see how Jackson’s feeling after a night’s sleep? I really don’t want to push him, but Jaebeom, we might have to. If we leave this alone it’ll just get worse.” He smiles sadly. “Our friends are really masochistic and self-sacrificing.” 

Jaebeom snorts. “They damn well are.” Then he sighs and Jinyoung can tell from the sound that some of Jaebeom’s worries have been put to rest. He can’t help the spike of affection at being the cause for that.

“Alright,” Jaebeom agrees. “I’ll see how Jackson’s doing when he wakes up. You check in with BamBam and Mark-hyung and then we’ll see from there I guess.”

“You know I will,” Jinyoung promises. Then adds cheekily. “I love you, you morning-grumpy.”

Jaebeom chuckles, the sound light and precisely what Jinyoung needs to start his day. “I love you too, you know-it-all,” he says affectionately.

They hang up, both utterly unaware of how their red cheeks match in shade.

By the time Youngjae wakes up, a very respectable nine o’clock that Jinyoung is secretly a little jealous of, the sun is already lighting the apartment. It took some fiddling with the stove and searching through the cabinets, but Jinyoung even managed to locate the eggs and bread, meaning breakfast is french toast with cinnamon and an apple. Youngjae beams at him when he sees and Jinyoung pats himself on the back for a job well done when the other stuffs his cheeks and moans at the taste.

“This is seriously amazing,” Youngjae says as he munches. They’re seated on the couch, curtains open to let the sun in and both with a blanket around their legs because Youngjae’s heating needs some time to start up.

Jinyoung chuckles and shrugs. “Jaebeom taught me how to make them since I love them so much.” Even he can hear how his voice goes soft and Youngjae smiles.

“I’m really, _really_ , happy for you guys. And just a reminder; yes, I’m very straight, but I support you two one hundred percent. You really do know that, right?” His voice goes uncertain, his next bite hovering forgotten in the air. Jinyoung can’t deny it feels wonderful to have his closest friends be such big supporters of his relationship with Jaebeom. There had been some concerns about Jackson and even Youngjae, but knowing they are all simply happy for them reminds Jinyoung just why he chose this random group of people as his best friends.

“We know,” he assures Youngjae with a soft smile.

The younger nods, satisfied, and goes back to munching on his breakfast. He lets out a half laugh around his next mouthful and says with stuffed cheeks. “Can you imagine if I’d been gay and me and BamBam would have ended up together. Our whole group would have consisted of couples.”

Jinyoung almost shudders at the idea of Youngjae and BamBam being a thing; that’s just too much energy in a single relationship, only to frown when the rest of that statement hits. He glances at his friend happily chewing his food, not a single indication he just slipped up or said something he shouldn’t have. It makes Jinyoung’s gears work faster and he raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, our whole group? It’s just me and Jaebeom who are together, right?” He pries carefully, and isn’t disappointed when Youngjae stops midchew, eyes wide, and swallows his mouthful to blink confusedly.

“But aren’t Mark-hyung and Jackson-hyung a thi-” he drops his chopsticks on his lap and slaps his hands over his mouth, eyes saucers. Then he mumbles into his hands.

“Were we not supposed to know? Oh god, I messed up didn’t I? Is this one of those things no one is ever supposed to talk about because then it becomes a Thing. Like, because of the forced wedding and whatever happened yesterday, mentioning it was probably really bad manners.” He covers his whole face with his hands and groans. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything.” 

Jinyoung can’t help it, he barks out a laugh and drops his empty plate and chopsticks on the table, worried they might fall to the floor with the way he’s giggling.

“You think,” he chuckles, “that Mark-hyung and Jackson-hyung are in a _secret relationship?”_

“Just stop,” Youngjae moans from behind his hands. “Forget I said anything.”

With a last few chuckles, Jinyoung saves Youngjae’s half-eaten breakfast from toppling to the floor and places it on the table, then grabs Youngjae’s hands and unearths the other’s burning face.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, “you didn’t make it a Thing.”

Youngjae pouts. “I didn’t know we weren’t supposed to talk about it.”

Jinyoung snorts and drops Youngjae’s hands. He promises himself to give Mark the biggest ‘I told you so’ look the next time he sees him. No one in the history of mankind has probably been as obvious and oblivious at the same time as Mark and Jackson. Though Jinyoung’s mirth dims when he remembers _why,_ remembers Jackson’s broken screaming and Mark’s fear. Both men are convinced the other will hate them for their feelings when Youngjae believes they’re secretly dating. The irony isn’t lost on Jinyoung, as painful as it might be.

“It’s not that,” he sighs, “they’re just not in any kind of relationship. Secret or otherwise.”

Youngjae blinks at him, then laughs. “Yah, don’t do that. I’m not _blind._ Mark-hyung is plastered to Jackson-hyung’s side no matter where we go, and yesterday, when Mark-hyung got hurt?” Youngjae shivers and his mood darkens, but a soft smile makes it through as he wrings his hands. “We were all worried, but Jackson-hyung looked like his world just ended. I’ve never seen him that worried, about anyone.” He sends Jinyoung a deadpan look. “So yes, they love each other. In the non-friend way.”

Jinyoung blinks, then sends Youngjae’s angelic smile a wary glance. “When did you get this perceptive?”

“When all my friends became love-sick idiots,” Youngjae laughs. He props his head up on his arm, leaning side-ways into the back of the couch. “So, we’re good?” he smiles carefully. “You can stop pretending you don’t know, and we can talk about it?” His eyes shine, clearly eager to say _something_ but Jinyoung’s mood drops to the floor.

“Yes and no,” he sighs, mirroring Youngjae’s position and smiling wryly as the other blinks confusedly.

“Mark hyung and Jackson-hyung are very much head over heels for each other, only they’re not in a relationship because they’re both convinced the other is as straight as they come. Which, considering Jackson-hyung’s family and the fact Mark-hyung never said anything about his sexuality, isn’t that far of a stretch.”

Youngjae sags. “But they’re so _in love._ ”

Jinyoung hums. He’s glad Youngjae is very much for team Markson, but the reality of how royally complicated Mark and Jackson have it once again crashes down and he suddenly feels exhausted despite it being barely ten in the morning.

“Ow,” Youngjae eventually says, then he frowns. “Then what was yesterday all about? I thought they had a fight about the wedding or something? I suppose they still could’ve, but-”

“They didn’t have a fight,” Jinyoung hums, leaning more and more on his arm as he sees the proverbial cogs turning in Youngjae’s head. When the younger sends him a serious look, Jinyoung knows the gig is up.

“What happened yesterday?” Youngjae says quietly, eyes stern but also pleading.

Jinyoung sighs, again, and tells him everything he knows.

* * *

BamBam wakes up to a suspiciously empty apartment and a note placed on top of the folded sheets on his couch.

_I’m going to America to sort myself out. I’m sorry you got dragged into it and that I can’t do this face to face. Hopefully you’ll understand I need to fix some things before I do that. Please, take care of Jackson for me. He needs you guys right now and I’ll just add to his worries. Thank you for letting me stay and I’ll text when I land. See you in a few weeks._

_Mark._

It explains nothing and everything at the same time and BamBam trips over his feet to get to his phone and call Jinyoung, biting his lip and pacing in place until he hears the click and Jinyoung’s voice coming through the speaker. Before his hyung can even give a proper greeting, BamBam is already rushing out words.

“Mark-hyung is going back to America.”

“What!” Jinyoung bursts out, but BamBam keeps talking. He’s pacing in his dark bedroom and speaking animatedly with his hands even though no one can see.

“He left a note, I don’t even know when he left. I didn’t hear a _thing_ , and you know I’m not a heavy sleeper. Mark-hyung snuck out and he says to take care of Jackson-hyung and that he’d only add to Jackson-hyung’s worries but that doesn’t make any sense unless there’s something going on between them that I don’t know about. Is there something going on between those two that I don’t know about?” He rambles on, hand now running repeatedly through his hair. “There’s something going on, right? Look, whatever it is, can they just _fix it._ Because Mark-hyung says he’ll be back in a few weeks but after that shithead Josung and the whole thing yesterday what if-” BamBam has to breathe, has to drag in a breath beyond the nerves fluttering in his stomach because Mark is more of a brother than a friend and there’s something terrifyingly final about him leaving without saying a proper ‘see you later’. “What if he doesn’t come back?” he ends up whispering.

He stands stock-still and the line stays quiet and suddenly he’s angry. Angry because his friends are keeping something from him still. Angry because Mark can’t seem to treat him like an adult and _tell him things._

“What happened last night!” He yells into his phone. “What more aren’t you all telling me!”

There’re some muffled sounds and then far-away talking. BamBam almost yells again until Youngjae’s voice comes through.

“Hey Bammie, I’m sorry about all this. Jinyoung-hyung is using my phone to call Jaebeom-hyung.” He gulps and asks quietly. “Is Mark-hyung really leaving? Without saying _anything?”_

BamBam sort of hates how that makes him want to cry. After one month of basically no contact with Mark, it stings even more that his hyung can run away again so easily. “Yes,” he says bitterly. “And I’m probably the only one left out of _whatever_ loop this is. When are you guys going to realize I’m twenty-two?! I’m not a kid, I’m not going to break at the first hint of bad news and I _can_ actually be trusted with information.” It sounds close to sulking and he clears his throat, needing to be taken seriously for once. “So just, _what happened?”_

 _“A lot,”_ Youngjae sighs, then sounds apologetic. “I swear we weren’t leaving you out of things purposefully. There’s just a whole lot going on and it all kind of exploded last night and Jinyoung-hyung and Jaebeom-hyung know a lot, but even they’re struggling with some things.”

BamBam can hear his friend is sincere and it calms him somewhat. He leans against his bedroom wall and massages his forehead. “Fine,” he concedes, “just give me a cliff notes version, please.”

Youngjae does his best and BamBam refrains from interrupting him, apart from one very loud and incredulous ‘what!’ when he learns that Jackson’s not only spectacularly gay (which, okay, fair enough) but also got pressured into a marriage by means of a fake pregnancy because his hyung’s parents are apparently just _that_ homophobic.

It drops a block of ice in BamBam’s stomach, and by the end, when Youngjae has finally fallen silent, he stands shocked and blinking into the shadows of his bedroom.

“Why does this kind of shit keep _happening_ to us,” he eventually groans into the phone. “First J-squared, and now _this._ Actually, J-squared wasn’t even anywhere near this messed up, but still, _why?!”_ He whines when Youngjae barks out a strained laugh.

“I don’t know,” his friend sighs, “but it’s definitely turning into an unwanted pattern.”

BamBam snorts, silently promising he will _not_ be doing anything like this, thank you very much. Then he leans his head on the wall with a bitter sigh. “So basically Jackson-hyung’s family _sucks,_ Mark-hyung’s messed up because of some asshole whose name does not deserve to be spoken, and they’re both terrified the other hates them because of it.” He chuckles mirthlessly and hears Youngjae hum tiredly into the phone.

“Our hyungs are idiots,” BamBam sums up, then his voice hardens, “and they also deserve a hell of a lot better.”

“Basically,” Youngjae agrees.

With renewed energy, BamBam pushes away from the wall and stands buzzing in place. “So, what do we do?”

“Fix it, of course,” Youngjae snorts. “Our hyungs may be idiots, but we’re the ones who decided to befriend them. Jaebeom-hyung and Jackson-hyung are going over to Mark-hyung’s place. Can you meet Jinyoung-hyung and me at the airport? We’re going to run interference in case Mark-hyung’s already on his way there.”

BamBam smiles, blinking into the light flooding his room and throwing open his closet to find a quick outfit for ‘running interference’. He assures Youngjae, “I’ll be there in two hours. Mark-hyung’s not getting away this easy.”

.”


	4. And We're Only Lying To Ourselves

Jackson doesn’t remember entering Jaebeom’s place, much less getting into bed, but suddenly he’s awake and Jaebeom is shaking his arm, expression serious.

“We need to go,” the older says, dragging Jackson out of bed and through the hall to the door. The open curtains show sunlight and Jackson blinks groggily, his head stuffed with cotton and feet stumbling as he follows. 

“Why?” he croaks even as Jaebeom stuffs Jackson’s feet into his boots, making the twenty-four-year-old feel like a toddler. He grumbles when Jaebeom doesn’t answer. “I haven’t even had breakfast.”

Wordlessly, Jaebeom presses a plastic bag with a sandwich into his hands, then pushes him out the door and locks the apartment. It’s when he begins to drag Jackson to the staircase that awareness begins to creep in passed the fog of waking up and Jackson frowns. “What happened?”

He’s following willingly at this point, Jaebeom no longer holding him as they pad quickly down the stairs and out of the building. The sunlight does nothing to hide the cold lingering from the night and Jackson shivers as he realizes he’s only wearing a hoodie that, as he glances down and sees the clean, black material, isn’t actually his.

It only adds to his growing list of questions and he yanks Jaebeom back by his arm, makes the older stop in the middle of the parking lot next to the apartment complex.

“What. Happened,” he stresses. And then, because his brain is agonizingly slow on the uptake, last night comes rushing back and Jackson skips all the embarrassing parts to focus on _Mark. Bathroom. Hurt_. His insides bundle together and the world sways. “Is Mark-hyung okay?” he breathes.

Jaebeom looks seconds away from screaming, but something on Jackson’s face stops him. “Mark-hyung’s fine,” he promises, “he’s not hurt.” Then his expression becomes thoughtful, eyes searching Jackson for something and the younger suddenly feels exposed with how much Jaebeom now knows about him. He crosses his arms and grumbles. “Then what’s with the hurry.”

It seems useless to try and preserve dignity _now,_ after the whole debacle of last night, but Jackson is nothing if not stubborn. Especially when it comes to feelings.

Jackson’s feelings are the very definition of stubborn with how they just _won’t let Mark be._

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Jaebeom eventually says, already turning to walk away, only Jackson has had enough with being dragged around and quite literally digs his heel in.

“No,” he counters, “you’ll tell me now, or I’m not _getting_ in your car.”

Jaebeom gives him a ‘don’t be a child’ look and Jackson only glares harder. He’s aware he sounds petulant, but can this honestly not wait until he’s showered and had breakfast and generally feels a bit more like a person. Last night left its mark (Jackson almost laughs at _that_ hilarious pun) and he’d really rather be anywhere but _outside_.

“Mark-hyung’s leaving for America.” Jaebeom suddenly blurts out.

Jackson goes rigid, fingers digging into his arms and crinkling the baggy he still holds as shock fills him. Before he can stutter out a ‘what the fuck’, Jaebeom is already shaking his head and muttering at himself.

“No, damn, that’s too much.” He steps closer. “What I mean is,” he says in a normal volume, eyes capturing Jackson’s, “Mark-hyung’s going through something and he’s being stupid and running away without _dealing_ with it, and you’re the only one who can probably help him see some damn sense right now.”

Jaebeom says it all so calmly, eyes cool and imploring, but Jackson can’t find his breath for a moment and stumbles a step backwards. “Mark-hyung’s leaving?” It leaves him untethered and small, shivering because of something cold nestling _inside_. He deciphers Jaebeom’s words easily this time, picks up the hidden meaning behind it and he runs a hand over his face, desperate to hide whatever tears burn his eyes.

“Because of me,” he adds painfully. “He’s leaving because of me, because of yesterday-”

“No! Jackson, it’s not on you.” Jaebeom speaks fast, voice slowly getting louder.

Jackson laughs scathingly. “If it’s not on me then why am I the only one who can make him stay, huh?!”

“Because he loves you!” Jaebeom suddenly explodes, shaking Jackson so hard his teeth rattle. It leaves Jackson breathless and he lets out a very high-pitched giggle. Disbelief wars with shock as he shakes his head at Jaebeom. “That’s so not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m joking!” Jaebeom groans and rakes his hands through his hair. He mutters something sounding like ‘Jinyoung’s right’ then once again grabs Jackson and starts walking. The only reason Jackson follows is because Jaebeom keeps talking, his words ringing in Jackson’s ears while his stomach squirms at their implications.

“Mark-hyung never said anything because a wife and a baby are indeed very convincing when it comes to being straight. He also never said anything about being bisexual because you got awkward around BamBam for a while when he came out and Mark-hyung was too scared of messing up your friendship. Especially when he learned about your family.”

It barely hurts when Jackson’s mind is still spinning from everything else Jaebeom is saying and a very small, very timid patch of hope trembles in his chest for the first time in months.

“Basically,” Jaebeom says as he stops them next to the car, once again grabbing Jackson’s shoulders and a pleading expression on his face, “you’re beating yourself up about loving him and _he’s_ beating himself up about loving _you_ and Jinyoung really is a know-it-all because you two need to talk about this _before_ Mark-hyung leaves.”

“Me and Jinyoung?” Jackson croaks and Jaebeom groans. 

“You and Mark-hyung, you nitwit. Now get in.”

Jackson barely understands the words and blinks because _Mark-hyung loves who-now?_

With an eye-roll Jaebeom yanks the door open and pushes Jackson towards it. The only reason the younger ends up in the car is because he’s too flimsy to keep standing and the car looks like a better option than the ground.

“I don’t get it,” he eventually manages when Jaebeom’s also inside. Jackson’s still got his arms crossed, more to hold himself than anything else, and Jaebeom reaches around him with a grunt to buckle him in, plucking the forgotten sandwich out of his hand and dropping it on the dash.

“I didn’t either,” he responds, turning the key and slowly rolling out of the parking spot. Jackson turns his head haltingly, unsure whether Jaebeom really understands the gravity of everything that was just said, and the older shoots him a small smile as they turn onto the main road.

“When Mark-hyung told me Jinyoung liked me, I laughed in his face. He cuffed me over the head for that, but the point is, I didn’t get it either.” He shoots Jackson an understanding look. “Why would someone like Jinyoung, someone who seemed so utterly and irrevocably out of reach, like _me.”_

Jackson swallows, eyes sliding back to the road as those words hit a little too close to home. He tries to believe Jaebeom, tries to drown the voice in his head that’s shouting they’re all lying to him because they hate what he is, and manages a small nod.

He wants to believe the dream but is terrified of waking up.

Jaebeom seems to catch on to his hesitance and softens his voice. “The thing is,” he adds, “we’re not supposed to get it. We’re just supposed to love them back.”

“No problem there,” Jackson mumbles, “I’ve been doing that for months.” 

Jaebeom gives him a last look that Jackson doesn’t have the focus to try and decipher. The landscape changes from high-rises to residential homes as they leave the city center. Jackson vaguely remembers that Mark lives somewhere in a newer building on the outskirts of town near a park. He’s only been there once and back then it was night, but Jackson wouldn’t be able to focus on the route they’re taking even if he _had_ known where they were going. All that’s rattling around is variations of _Mark-hyung loves me_ and another voice screeching _Why would he!_

They’re both loud and nauseating in their own right, and Jackson never moves during the ride, feeling like if he does, if his arms stop holding it all together, Jaebeom will have bits and pieces of Jackson scattered throughout his car.

It’s not until the fields outnumber the houses that Jaebeom leaves the main road they’re on and starts twisting and turning into a small outcropping of identically styled houses, one dark-brown apartment building rising up and demanding Jackson’s attention. He shivers when he sees it.

The car growls softly as Jaebeom eases it onto the parking lot looping around half of the building. It takes no effort to find a parking space, almost half of them empty due to nine-to-five jobs having begun hours ago. When the engine cuts out, Jaebeom leaning back in his seat to look at Jackson, something squeezes in his gut and Jackson simply focuses on breathing.

“You don’t have to go alone,” Jaebeom breaks the silence. He holds a grim expression and taps the steering wheel nervously.

Jackson looks at the building again and tries to uncurl, tries to look less flimsy than he feels. Jaebeom’s soft sigh is all the evidence he needs to know he fails.

“I want to” Jackson chokes out, trying to understand himself _why_ he’s unable to move. “I want to go and I want to believe you, but-” his voice goes thin as doubt after doubt flies in,- “what if you’re wrong? What if you misheard or misjudged or something. I mean, are you sure he really likes guys, ‘cause maybe it was more of a ‘love-as-friend’ kind of way and-”

“Stop.” Jaebeom puts a hand on his leg and Jackson snaps his mouth shut, hating how brittle he feels inside and how much he’s been leaning on Jaebeom since the second he got here. “Jackson, stop.”

Jackson squeezes his eyes shut because that was more of a plea than anything. _What am I doing?_

“This was a bad idea,” Jaebeom suddenly whispers. “I _knew_ I shouldn’t have pushed this.” He starts the car without any other words and the revving of the engine curdles around Jackson’s lungs until he can’t breathe. Are they seriously going to leave?

He yanks the key out. “Wait!”

Jaebeom yells as well, pulling the parking brake up as the car cuts off and bobs in place, then he glares at Jackson’s wide-eyed, shocked expression. The younger holds the keys as if he can’t quite believe what he just did. Oh well, at least it got him to uncurl.

“Wait,” he repeats shakily, “we can’t just leave.”

Jaebeom snatches the keys back out of Jackson’s slack grip. “The hell we can! What was that!”

“You brought me here!” Jackson yells right back, jitters and nerves easily switching to anger because _Jaebeom_ yanked him out of bed and stuffed him in the damn car with promises of _he loves you_ and now he’s chickening out!?

He glares at Jaebeom’s guilty expression. “You’re the one who drove us here for twenty minutes and told me I needed to talk to him, okay! Because Mark-hyung’s abandoning all of you because I showed up! So _wait!”_

The following silence is heavy, Jackson panting from his outburst and his first real feelings since yesterday’s numbness that don’t make him want to hide under a table. Then Jaebeom lets out a bitter laugh.

“You just can’t stop, can you?”

“Stop what?” he grumbles tiredly. The building still looms as he focuses on it and he leans back, breathing tight and controlled because he’s angry but he’s mostly scared and insecure. Jaebeom sighs heavily.

“Talking yourself down. Blaming yourself for stuff that’s not your fault.” He turns toward Jackson but the younger pointedly ignores his gaze. The burning in his throat will turn ugly if he does.

“Mark isn’t abandoning us. He’s running because he’s _scared.”_ From the corner of his eye, Jackson sees Jaebeom run a hand through his hair, a sudden expression of guilt and pain on his face.

“You’re right, I brought you here, and you’re also right for yelling because I didn’t actually _want_ to bring you here. I wanted this conversation to wait, for you to get some time from yesterday to- to _this,_ but Mark-hyung’s making that impossible. He…”

Jackson turns to see Jaebeom struggling with his words and clears his throat. “He what, hyung?”

Jaebeom’s chin goes tight, his whole face screaming he doesn’t want to say his next words, but Jackson can see his resolve is crumbling and presses again. “Jaebeom-hyung, what?”

The other lets out a humorless laugh and looks Jackson straight in the eye. “He needs you. I didn’t really understand until Jinyoung-ah told me Mark-hyung’s leaving, but he needs _you_ , Jackson. Now probably more than ever. And he’s terrified that he can’t ask that, that he can’t ask for your help, that you won’t want to help him with this. And I think-” he draws in a deep breath, words utterly serious and leaving Jackson painful and nauseous. “I think Mark-hyung’s running so that he won’t have to see you reject him, so that he won’t have to see you hate him. He’s running because he loves you, Jackson, because he’s scared you’ll hate him. And that’s why I brought you here, because you’re the only one who can stop him.”

His guilty expression intensifies, crowfeet around his eyes showing pain and anger at the same time. “I’m really sorry it has to be you, that it has to be _now,”_ he squeezes Jackson’s leg, “but when it comes to Mark-hyung, it’s always only been you.”

There are no thoughts in Jackson’s mind as he stares at Jaebeom, as he takes in the apology etched onto his friend’s features and watches three cars pass over the main road he spots over Jaebeom’s shoulder. It’s a pocket of silence and autumn sun and them sitting in a car mere minutes away from the man who Jackson loves more than he ever dared to admit out loud.

Until now.

“I love him,” he whispers at Jaebeom, eyes slowly travelling to find his friend’s. “I love him so much I can barely breathe when he smiles at me. He’s literally in my thoughts all the time and if my only achievement in life will be making him happy than I’ll have accomplished everything I ever wanted, so _why-”_ his voice trembles, tears of disbelief and anger burning in his eyes,- “why would he _ever_ think I could hate him, that I could _reject him?!”_

It hurts in a way pain never has. Fear mingles with disgust in a mix that makes Jackson feel like a monster because what in the _world_ has he done to make Mark think Jackson could ever _not love him._

“Jackson,” Jaebeom breathes pained, but the younger isn’t willing to let this go. 

“Tell me,” he begs in a hoarse voice, unshed tears still burning his eyes. “Because if you’re right, if he lo-” _breathe, Jackson, you need to breathe_ “if he loves me, then I _need_ to know what I did. I need to know what to fix-”

“It wasn’t really your fault,” Jaebeom interrupts heatedly, eyes burning, “you can’t fix your family.”

Which shuts him up efficiently, ice clogging his lungs and throat because _you’re not my son anymore_ and _my Jackson can’t be gay_ swirls into a disgusting whirlwind of homophobia which Jackson quite possibly cloaked himself in during his painful stint as a straight man. Jaebeom grabs his shoulders and shakes him before he can lose himself in guilt and snaps impatiently.

“It’s not your fault! It never was! Especially after the way they treated you.” He shakes him again and his voice sharpens. “And it may be why he was too scared to confess to you, but it’s not why he’s running. _Josung_ is the reason he’s running Jackson, that asshole is the reason I dragged you out here. Because if Mark-hyung leaves thinking you hate him because of what happened, I don’t think he’ll ever really come back from that.”

The name means nothing to Jackson, but it’s obvious from Jaebeom’s glare that it’s bad news. Guilt seeps through the cracks as things begin to connect in Jackson’s head, little snippets of conversation adding up and creating a picture that makes the car feel suddenly too small.

“Who’s Josung?” He says hollowly. “What did he do?”

Jaebeom snatches his arms back, shock on his face before he sharply shakes his head. He obviously never meant to say all he just did. “Just a bad memory.”

“Who is he!” Jackson yells.

“Just some guy!” Jaebeom shouts back. “You don’t need to kn-”

Jackson slams his palm on the dash, throwing his friend a look cold enough he normally never would have dared, but _Mark-hyung needs you more than ever_ and _he thinks you hate him because of what happened._ The following silence has Jaebeom staring wide-eyed, gaze shooting from Jackson to his hand and back.

“What I _need,”_ Jackson says much too calmly for the storm raging inside, “is to know who Josung is, and what he has to do with Mark-hyung leaving.”

They never break eye-contact and seconds tick by with nothing but strained breathing. The proverbial immoveable mountain meets the unstoppable force and neither gives an inch. Eventually Jackson narrows his eyes at Jaebeom’s stubbornly clenched chin and decides to dig into a sore spot he’ll have to apologize for later, but right now can’t care less about because _Mark._

“If it were Jinyoung,” he says icily, watching the older jerk with shock. “If roles were reversed and you were me and Mark was Jinyoung, would you honestly let me get away with saying shit like this about Jinyoung and then clamp up?”

Jaebeom begins to tremble and hisses ‘don’t’ but Jackson ignores him and plows on. “If it were Jinyoung, you wouldn’t take that.” A pause and Jaebeom grimaces. Jackson leans forward. “Mark is my Jinyoung and you will _tell me. Who. Josung. Is.”_

The silence stretches and Jaebeom is a statue, anger too light a word to describe the expression on his face, then he unfreezes and spits out. “You ever use Jinyoung against me like that again, and I will break your jaw.”

Jackson only nods grimly. He’s not proud of his actions, but doesn't care even if Jaebeom had made good on his threat _now._ Not when the thought of Mark leaving is tied to whatever Jaebeom is keeping from him.

“I was trying to fucking protect you from this,” Jaebeom hisses, then drags a hand through his hair and breaks eye-contact. Jackson huffs, tension broken, and leans back.

“I’m a big boy, I can take it,” he smiles wryly. After losing his entire family and still not dying from the pain, Jackson thinks he can take just about anything.

Jaebeom clearly disagrees. “No,” he sighs, “you really can’t.” Then he closes his eyes and speaks with a laden voice. “You can’t because Mark-hyung went out about a month ago to try and get over you, and Josung was the asshole he went home with. Josung drugged him, and he raped him, and last night you broke Josung’s nose.”

Jaebeom was right.

Jackson was wrong.

He can’t take it.

The world freezes and stops, or it should have because Jackson is positive someone, somewhere, fucked up. Someone else’s bad fortune found their way to Mark, found their way to the best person Jackson’s ever met, and the world should have screeched to a halt and thrown itself into reverse to undo this horror.

But Jaebeom opens his eyes and stares desolately at the middle console as he keeps talking.

“Mark-hyung doesn’t really remember much from that night, barely remembered where the guy lived, and he didn’t speak to me for a week when he found out I went over and threatened the jerk. He says it’s all fine because he doesn’t remember, but that’s bull, Jackson. Jinyoung and I have tried to talk to him, but no one _gets him_ like you do.” His mouth sets in a grim line and he keeps glaring at the console. “He doesn’t open up to us like he does to you. And I’m sorry, Jackson, because you don’t need this right now. You need help yourself with your family and everything they threw at you, but I’m scared that if Mark-hyung runs now, he’ll never stop. That-that we’ll lose him because he won't let himself heal or whatever, and you-” Jaebeom finally looks up, fixes a still frozen Jackson with a look filled with helpless anger and apology, “you’re the only person who’ll ever be able to get through to him. Because he loves you way too much to _not_ listen to you.”

With a heavy sigh Jaebeom leans one arm on the steering wheel. “And I didn’t want to tell you all of that because you already looked bad, but now you look ready to be hospitalized.”

_Do I?_

“Jackson,” Jaebeom shakes him. “You’re not breathing. You need to _breathe.”_

_Oh._

The moment he does, when air rushes in and his chest expands, everything rushes in alongside it and Jackson realizes he _really can’t handle this._

“Fuck!” He screams. Anger pulses like a living parasite under his skin, curls around his brain and writhes in his stomach. An explosion of helpless fury has him slamming his hand over and over onto the dash, little pieces of pain and sickening guilt breaking away with every hit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!”_

“Jackson!” Jaebeom’s hands grab his, yanking him to the side even as Jackson struggles because he’s _breaking._

“It’s Mark!” He yells when Jaebeom won’t let go. His hands no longer able to expel the dizzying _furypainit’sjustanightmare_ that’s beating him down. Tears push passed his crumbling defenses and within seconds he’s sobbing as Jaebeom keeps him from breaking his hands. “It’s Mark,” he repeats over and over. The fight ebbs out of him, a trembling disbelief and need to hide filling the void it leaves behind.

It’s awkward and the parking brake stabs Jackson in his side, but Jaebeom maneuvers them until he can bring Jackson in for a hug, his hands rubbing the younger’s back as Jackson hides his tears in Jaebeom’s shoulder. With a shudder Jackson sinks into his friend. He holds the other with regret and desperation as anger makes way for hollow disbelief because _it’s Mark._

It’s a laugh that melts his insides and a steadying hand when he’s had one too many. It’s the reason oreos bring a smile to Jackson’s face. It’s the only silence Jackson doesn’t feel required to fill and a presence that can be as calm as it can be wild and never forces Jackson to change his mood. It’s an arm slung around his shoulder and conversations that never feel forced. It’s more home than home has ever been, and Jackson hates the gods for the first time in his life, despises them with every inch of his soul, for doing _this_ to Mark.

_My Mark._

The thought buts in like always, places the older in a position he will never be-

_Because he loves you!_

Jackson carefully pulls back, thoughts falling faster and faster. 

“Jackson?” Jaebeom sounds genuinely scared and he ducks to catch Jackson’s eyes, his hands keeping a hold of the younger’s shoulders. “Please, talk to me.” His eyes are as red as Jackson imagines his own are, but he can’t find the energy to fret about it. Instead, he drags in a deep breath and croaks. 

“You said Mark-hyung needed me, that he needed me now more than ever. Was that because of…?” he trails off, seeing Jaebeom flinch before the other nods slowly.

“Okay,” Jackson whispers, drawing himself up more and forcing his body to _stop shaking_. “Okay.”

It makes Jaebeom worry his bottom lip even as he slowly pulls his arms back. “What are you thinking?” he cautions.

Jackson turns his eyes to the building in front of them and pushes everything back, throttles the rage in his belly until all he can think about is Mark being alone and hurting and how the older has a nasty habit of internalizing his pain. 

“I’m thinking Mark-hyung needs me.” He snaps the door open and instantly shivers, having forgotten about the cold while tucked away inside their little two-person world. Jaebeom lets out a distressed sound.

“At least wait until you’ve stopped shaking! Jackson, come on. We can see if he leaves from here-”

“I can’t _wait_ , hyung.” Jackson counters with one leg already outside and turns to a pained looking Jaebeom.

“Why the hell not?”

Because Jackson can feel the urgency to run skyrocket with every second he spends sitting here and Mark is up there hurting over something Jackson could be helping him with. With a small apologetic smile, he translates his feelings into something Jaebeom can’t ignore.

“Because he’s my Jinyoung.”

It’s the simplest he can make it, and this time Jaebeom doesn’t get angry. He sighs, drops his head, and waves Jackson out of the car.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Mark threw up about half an hour ago, and now he’s sitting on his couch, in the dark, staring at the grey outlines of his trembling hands and wondering who the hell was left in charge last night to say and do the things that he did.

To Youngjae.

To BamBam.

To Jackson.

Only having three hours of actual sleep probably did nothing about his tendency to overthink things, but by the time eight o’clock rolled around, his worries were close to choking him and the thought of facing BamBam or _anyone_ seemed utterly impossible.

So, he ran.

Not his brightest moment, especially after a month of no contact, but Mark feels like it’s hardly his biggest mistake as of late. Falling in love with Jackson would probably be at the top of that list. Or possibly going home with Josung. Both ended up hurting his friends in ways Mark never wanted, and both bring bile to the back of his throat, though for different reasons.

Luckily, he’s done with throwing up it seems. Twice in less than twelve hours is enough.

The sudden and piercing ring of the doorbell snaps him out of aimlessly staring at his hands and he sighs. A quick glance at the glowing red letters just right of his TV shows the driver is about ten minutes early. No matter. Mark finished packing last night and simply had to drag his suitcase and carry-on backpack to the door when he got here two hours ago. Then he spent an hour in the shower to wash away everything from last night, threw on a black pair of sweats, a red hoodie which he stole from Jackson last year (and is currently the only piece of clothing he possesses which makes him feel like himself) and the first pair of sneakers his eyes landed on, only to end up staring at nothing in the darkness of his living room and waiting for the driver. Who is now here.

Mark breathes.

This is good. This is for the best. His inner BamBam strongly disagrees and Mark shuts him up. The doorbell rings again, and again, and Mark rolls his eyes at their impatience as he gets up. They’re the ones who are early.

“I’m coming,” he yells. The hallway light is bright to his eyes as he turns it on, and he squints a little as he opens the door. Had it been any other day, Mark would have looked at the camera first. He would have activated the display with a single tap and checked the camera to see who it was (thank you, Josung-activated paranoia), but Mark knows who it is, knows there’s only one person it possibly _could be_.

The dri- _Jackson._

Mark grinds to a halt, hand frozen on the door as he blinks at Jackson. White-faced, panting, wearing-Jaebeom’s-black-Adidas-hoodie-which-Mark-gifted-him, Jackson.

“..how?” is all Mark can squeeze out through his dry throat, his stomach swooping as if he’s falling and nausea rising right back up. Because Jackson is here. Because Jackson no doubt has very strong negative feelings toward Mark. Because _Jackson is_ _here to have very strong negative feelings toward Mark._ It’s the only logical explanation his mind can come up with.

Mark should have run faster. He flinches when Jackson moves, throws the door as hard as he can, but it hits something and refuses to close, Jackson shouldering his way in with a grunt and a ‘Mark-hyung, stop!’

Mark falls two steps back, bumping into his waiting suitcase and door flying into the wall with a loud slam that does nothing to help his headache. Jackson stumbles in and finds Mark’s eyes almost immediately.

“Stop,” the younger pleads, “just stop and listen.”

Mark doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” he says, eyes fixed on the logo on Jackson’s chest. “I’m sorry for everything, okay, I’m _sorry.”_ Because there’s no way of knowing how much the others have told Jackson and he’s definitely not about to give the other more reasons to be disgusted.

“What? No, Mark-hyung, stop, that’s not-” he cuts of so suddenly, body stilling in a heartbeat, that Mark looks up. Jackson is pale, his hair a mess of brown tangles and lips drawn into a grimace. He’s still beautiful enough for Mark’s heart to cry out and Mark really should have run faster.

Jackson lets out a wet breath. “Are you-do you-” He grimaces more and his hands start fumbling with the too long sleeves, the action a clear indication he’s nervous and Mark hates how well he knows Jackson’s tells.

“Do you love me?” Jackson finally asks in a hushed whisper, the sound barely enough to be called speech but achingly loud in Mark’s ears. In the quiet hallway. In the quiet building.

_Do you love me?_

Mark wants to lie. He wants to laugh it off and say ‘of course you doofus, you’re my best friend’, but the reality is already painted on Jackson’s face, in the lines around his eyes and the bottom lip he’s biting until it’s white. The harsh light Mark wishes he’d never turned on reveals Jackson's fear of hearing the answer. It reveals someone already told him that Mark’s treacherous heart yearns for the one person it can never have.

The taxi will be here in seven minutes, but Mark can’t run anymore. He looks up with the painful truth swelling inside at the sight of Jackson (gorgeous, selfless, funny, serious, complicated, whiny Jackson) standing right in front of him.

Mark can’t run. Mark can’t lie. So, he steels himself, blows out a long breath, and drops his eyes to the floor. Then he nods.

“Yes.”

It’s as utterly simple as that. Mark loves Jackson, and Jackson doesn’t love Mark. Not anymore. Not like that. He smiles sardonically.

“Jinyoung or Jaebeom?” He asks without any real interest in the answer besides a vague desire to twist the conversation into a direction he won’t slowly suffocate in.

Jackson stays quiet. Then he takes a step closer and Mark can’t find it within himself to care. He leans more onto his suitcase, eyes firmly fixed on Jackson’s brown boots.

“Jaebeom-hyung,” Jackson eventually croaks and he clears his throat right after. “Though he’s not the reason I’m here.”

Of course he’s not, Mark thinks wryly. The reason Jackson is here is painfully obvious and Mark can’t run, can’t lie, can’t even _hide_ with Jackson standing close enough to touch, so Mark snaps his head up and looks the other straight in the eyes. They’re red with bags under them, Jackson’s face still white as tension draws his lips into a straight line.

Mark smiles, or he tries to, and ignores the breaking of his own heart as he hums softly. “It’s okay, Jackson. I know why you’re here.” The other blinks and the tension turns into confusion.

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” he says, keeping all the nails and thorns and _pain_ out of his voice. He hip-checks his suitcase and crosses his arms. “But I’m already packed and ready to leave, so you didn’t need to come. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

And _fuck_ if that doesn’t _hurt_ but ignoreignoreignore. His smile stays in place, possibly a bit wobbly as his eyes do their stupid prickling, but he’s got a clear enough view to watch Jackson go from confusion to understanding to _pain._

_Wait what?_

His frantic double-take reveals nothing new, nothing but Jackson dragging in a slow breath and blinking terrifyingly familiar liquid out of his eyes. Whatever Mark just did, he’s once again managed to fuck up and the smile finally falls in the face of Jackson’s pain.

Pain that Mark caused.

Digging his fingers into his arms dampens the urge to reach out and hold Jackson. To wipe that lone tear off his face and run a reassuring hand through his hair and down his back because Jaebeom’s sweater suddenly looks much too big on someone as strong and formidable as Jackson.

“What’s wrong,” Mark chokes out. His eyes find Jackson’s and Mark forgets about himself, his worries, _everything_ , because Jackson looks _shattered._

“What did I do?” Mark begs, voice catching. One arm breaks loose and hangs in the air between them. “Jackson, what did I-”

Jackson rushes forward with a single, loud sob. His arms secure Mark in place, pull him in and trap Mark’s own between their bodies. Jackson’s heart hammers into Mark’s right hand, fast and steady.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson sobs, his face buried in Mark’s neck and his whole body trembling. “I’m so sorry, hyung, I’m so sorry.” He squeezes tighter, as if Mark is trying to wrestle out the hug. Which he’s not. Not even close.

Mark doesn’t even know where to _begin._

He’s literally frozen in place, unable to move even if he wanted to, unable to reciprocate the hug which he most _definitely_ wants to, and staring unblinking at the open front door with his chin resting on Jackson’s trembling shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he whispers after one too many sorry’s. Jackson simply shakes his head into Mark’s neck, rubbing their skin together and Mark suddenly wants Jackson to let go because he hates knowing _precisely_ what he’ll never have.

“Its okay,” he grates and pushes back. “Whatever it is, it’s okay, Jackson.”

With one last shuddering sob, Jackson lets go. His warmth pulls back and then he’s standing one step away, hands running over his face and into his already wild hair, eyes documenting Mark as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

“It’s so not okay,” he says with a wobbly smile, “because I’m really, very _gay_ ,-”

Mark gapes; eyes wide, jaw dropped, and Jackson chuckles.

“Yeah, exactly. Nothing’s even close to being okay because my parents are pretty homophobic, and Jian was a pretend-relationship to hide who I am from their friends. Can you imagine their shock when I told them I was done being their puppet because I fell in love with the most gorgeous man?”

The hallway does a slow turn, his headache only pounding more, and Mark leans so much on his suitcase he’s practically sitting on it. Jackson still looks small, still has his fingers plucking at his sleeves as his eyes nervously watch Mark’s every move.

Which, honestly, what is Mark even supposed to _say._

How long did you hide it? I’m sorry your parents suck? What about the baby and the wedding? Or, as Mark’s jealousy rears its bitter head, who the fuck is stealing you away from me? Having Jackson closer than ever but still out of reach strangles a moan out of Mark’s mouth, makes him think he might be throwing up a third time if this keeps up.

Jackson nods once at his silence and bites his lip, hands disappearing into his sleeves as his nerves get worse. “The baby’s fake,” he blurts out. “It was a ploy to get me to agree to the wedding. I’ve had sex with Jian a grand total of _once_ , and they were still able to use it against me. Pathetic, huh?” He laughs at himself but stops when Mark still doesn’t react.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He’s angry on Jackson’s behalf, feels the tremor in his left arm as he yearns to hit those responsible for the tears on Jackson’s face, but the sheer shock of everything keeps him rooted, one vital question demanding all of his attention.

_Why is he telling me?_

“So yeah,” Jackson shrugs his shoulders with that same mirthless laugh as before. “I’m pretty stupid, huh. They all lied for months, and I fell for it.” He flaps his arms, mouth in a tight-lipped smile and chin wobbling when he continues. “Everything’s a lie and I’m dumb, and if that isn’t enough to prove my idiocy, guess who I fell in love with.”

He’s still wearing that same tight-lipped smile, but tears are in his eyes and Mark almost, _almost_ , shoots up to hug him. Then the question settles and he can’t look away from Jackson’s eyes. Time would preferably stop right now, would simply freeze and hold forever so that Mark will never have to know which one of his friends (or which one of Jackson’s dozens of acquaintances, lord knows the other has enough of them) holds the affection Mark would quite possibly kill for.

All he manages is a shake of his head, arms once again so tightly crossed they’re close to dislodging his stomach.

Jackson lets out a despairing sound, mouth pulling down and eyes filling with tears.

What the fuck has Mark done wrong now.

“Really?” Jackson breathes incredulously. “Am I that good at pretending?” A giggle that’s more pain than joy and the tears begin to fall. Then Jackson heaves in a breath and points one trembling hand at Mark still sitting on his suitcase.

“It’s you,” Jackson whispers. “I fell so utterly and just- fucking _hopelessly_ in love with _you.”_

He flaps his arms again in a hapless shrug, lips trembling and tears falling, but he never looks away from Mark.

Mark.

Mark is the only other person here, the only other ‘you’ Jackson could possibly be referring to. His mind still needs multiple seconds to do the simplest of math. He keeps staring at Jackson, mouth open, and the question tumbles out before he really knows it.

“You’re in love with me?” Why his voice sounds so choked up becomes clear when a pressure builds behind his eyes and in his throat, something that’s close to happiness but also too _hot_ to be solely joy coursing throughout his body.

_Jackson loves me._

Jackson nods immediately, then drops his face in his hands and scrubs away tears even though fresh ones keep falling. “Only I fucked up _so bad!”_ He points an angry hand at the suitcase and grinds out. “You’re leaving because of me, because of Josung, because I wasn’t there to _help-”_

Mark doesn’t know what he expected, blames no one but himself for the fact Jackson’s almost casual mention of Josung’s name throws him enough he flinches back and slams his elbow into the wall. He hisses and rubs his arm, then throws a glare at Jackson because he’s _angry_ at the whole world for being looked at like _that._

Mark is fine, damnit, he is _fine._ And the next person to tell him 'I'm sorry' or ask him 'are you okay' will be punched. Josung is history, Mark doesn't even remember much, and he is _fine._

Or at least, he would be, if he could convince himself of that. But his friends, especially Jackson, needn't ever know that.

He glares at Jackson with all the force he can muster so he can ignore the cracks inside. “Don’t you pity me,” he demands with a choked-up voice. “Don’t you dare, Jacks. I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m _not_ ,” Jackson snaps right back and Mark's heart stutters. “I want to cry and hide away and tell the world to _fuck off-”_ he brushes his tears away and pins Mark down with a look so raw it rattles the older all the way to his core.

“I want to break,” Jackson confesses tearfully. “I want nothing more than to break and stay broken, because that’s all I feel; broken. But, damnit, Mark-”

This time, when Jackson steps forward, Mark almost flinches again. But Jackson is too fast, his hands shoot up and grab Mark’s face and the younger’s eyes capture Mark’s completely. His heart hammers in chest, breath shooting out in a single surprised sound, then Jackson’s leaning in and Mark wants to tell him to stop.

Maybe Jackson reads minds, or maybe Mark needs more than three hours of sleep, but Jackson’s lips never make it to his. Instead, the younger scratches his fingertips into Mark’s scalp and tilts both their heads so that soft lips press a trembling and wet kiss to Mark’s forehead. The moment last for eternity and less than a second, Mark’s anxiety surprisingly shutting up when the blissfully warm and loving kiss ends all too soon. Jackson pulls back slightly, breath ghosting over Mark’s skin as he whispers.

“But I want to be with you, Mark. I want to be there _for_ you. And I can’t love you the way you deserve if I let myself stay broken.”

Mark hangs onto Jackson’s heartfelt confession, literally digs his hands into the hoodie right over Jackson’s chest. He suddenly wants to finish the kiss Jackson almost initiated. He wants to wrap around Jackson and never let him go, but tears burn his eyes because there’s something holding him back.

Something ugly and twisted and it smells like sex Mark never agreed to and leers like Josung.

Mark _hates_ himself. He grips the hoodie tighter, clenching his jaw against tears because he’s almost literally being torn between running for America and never leaving Jackson’s arms.

The younger starts to rub gentle hands up and down Mark’s trembling arms and he carefully rest his chin on top of Mark’s head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “but I’m also not okay, and I want to be everything you deserve and more-” a soft sob comes out and Mark can feel the shudder run through Jackson’s body from where his head is pressed against the other’s sternum. It makes Mark’s stomach fall all the way down and he presses a little closer to Jackson. He confesses with a clenched jaw.

“You’ve always been more than I deserve, especially after Josung- after he-”

The heavy rush of disgust clings to his insides, pushes the tears out and Mark needs to shut it up, needs to replace it with something less prickly and burning and-

Mark pushes Jackson back, his breathing harsh and tears blurring Jackson’s surprised face. With the same movement he shoots up from the suitcase, holds himself on steady legs as he grabs the back of Jackson’s neck and attacks Jackson’s lips with a desperate kiss. It’s salty from tears and Jackson seems scared to respond, the other’s arms loosely falling on Mark’s hips as a lump of _something_ catches in Mark’s throat while he attempts to erase Josung’s ghost with Jackson’s warm lips and the little noises he makes when he breathes through his nose.

It works, but not quite.

Mark breaks the kiss as suddenly as it started, throwing his arms around Jackson’s neck and holding him, chin on Jackson’s shoulder and wobbling as the stupid tears flow from whatever cracked canyon he’s kept hidden for a month.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks at Jackson and the younger returns the hug with as much force as Mark. It hurts in the best way. He closes his eyes and keeps repeating the words, no longer sure what he’s apologizing for but knowing it has something to do with Josung’s touch ghosting over Mark’s skin even when Jackson’s arms are a solid presence across his back.

Jackson holds him close and once again buries his face in Mark’s neck, his warm tears causing a shiver to run down Mark’s cold back. Everything Mark’s ever wanted is right in his arms, Jackson softly mumbling ‘it’s okay’ and shushing him, and yet all Mark can think about are Jackson’s words running on a loop in his head.

_I want nothing more than to break and stay broken but I can’t love you the way you deserve if I stay broken._

It resonates with something Mark did his best to hide, to ignore, and part of him hates Jackson for always seeing everything. For having the gall to call Mark out on his bullshit, even if the younger does so mostly unconsciously.

“I’m-” he stutters in his apology and Jackson hums softly yet never lets him go. Mark’s chest squeezes in affection and fear and numerous other things as he fights to keep from sobbing and blinks too many tears out of his eyes. “I don’t think I’m fine,” he confesses with a voice like gravel. He hates the words and how they taste, but a plug pops loose in his chest and the truth flows in a strange cathartic rush.

“I was so stupid,” he confesses, “and then what happened- what he- If I’d just payed attention he _never_ could’ve … done _that_. I don’t- I don’t remember Jacks,” he whispers fearfully, his throat closing up, “I can’t remember what he did. I keep telling everyone that makes it better, but I don’t _know.”_

Jackson holds him tighter and Mark doesn’t think he breaks, he did that weeks ago, but it feels like airing an infected wound because someone is finally handing him antiseptic instead of more bandages.

His voice cracks from the tears he’s holding back while Jackson stays a silent and warm presence pressing back soothingly against all the invisible bruises Mark still sees whenever he looks in a mirror.

“I don’t know what he did, and I didn’t want you to know that because I kept telling myself you’d treat me different or look at me different, but-”

Jackson makes a disagreeing noise, softly squeezing Mark’s sides. It brings a watery and painful smile to Mark’s face.

“But the thing I’m afraid of is myself. _I_ see myself different, _I_ think I’m weak. And I knew you know me well enough to figure that out … which you did. Because-” the first sob comes out and Mark strangles it halfway through, “because I love you so, so much, Jackson,” he says it like an apology and continues in a whisper, “but I can’t forget about Josung, even when you’re with me, and I _hate_ myself for that.”

There’s no great rush of relief or happiness at what was probably a long overdue confession, only Mark shaking with the force of his anger and Jackson buried into his neck. It doesn’t fix anything, doesn’t magically heal all their scars, but it leaves Mark suddenly exhausted, as if he’s been running for a month and just sat down for the first time.

It's everything he was afraid of and more, yet Jackson is still holding him.

“Jackson?” he croaks carefully, then falls silent because he doesn’t have anything more to say except for another useless ‘I’m sorry’. After two shaky breaths, Jackson slowly moves enough he can mumble into Mark’s neck without being completely muffled.

“I’m here,” the younger promises with a voice thick with emotion. For the first time Mark notices he isn’t the only one who’s trembling. They’re a pair of shaking fools in love, surrounded by literal and metaphorical baggage, and he presses a hesitant kiss to Jackson’s neck. The following rush of how _right_ that feels leaves Mark breathless and hoping that maybe, just maybe, Josung hasn’t completely shattered him.

“Maybe I’m not fine,” he says with a small voice, once again staring at the open doorway. “Maybe I’m also broken.”

Jackson squeezes him once more, then slowly draws back, and Mark lets his arms relax. He keeps one hand on the back on Jackson’s neck, fingers curled into the other’s hair, because despite feeling out of step with himself, it’s _Jackson_. There’s a soft smile amidst the baggy, red eyes and tear tracks, and Mark can’t deny the little bubble of warmth in his belly when Jackson looks at him like … _like he loves me._

“I think maybe we’re both a little broken,” Jackson chuckles wetly, one hand on Mark’s waist and the other wiping his cheeks. “But I also think that that’s okay from time to time.” He manages a small grin and Mark could drown in the honey brown eyes in front of him.

“I also think,” Jackson continues seriously, “that we can’t fix each other. So, if you need to go- if you need to leave and be alone to _heal-”_ he bites his bottom lip and Mark is certain Jackson doesn’t know how much he loves him. “If you need to go to America, then I’m not going to stop you. And I will _wait for you.”_ He promises with a gravity that punches Mark in the chest.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, promising himself he’ll do whatever Jackson says because the other needs to stop looking so damn _sad_. Only the question has the opposite effect and Jackson’s face crumbles, he carefully leans forward with a sob and presses his forehead against Mark’s, eyes closing in his white face.

“I need you to _heal_ ,” he breathes and Mark needs to blink through a fresh wave of tears. “It’s not about what we want right now, it’s about what we _need._ Maybe going to America is you running from what scares you, or maybe it’s you fleeing to a place where you can feel better. I ran from China because if I stayed there any longer, I would have gone insane.” He opens his eyes and seems taken aback to see Mark’s been staring at him this whole time in complete and utter wonder. With a small laugh Jackson pulls back and looks at him with eyes so soft, they’re close to being magical.

“Sometimes we need to leave the place that hurt us to get better, Mark. So, if you need time away from here, from me, then I’ll wait. And then maybe-” his voice trembles, “you can wait for me too?”

Mark knows, without a sliver of a doubt, that he’d wait a life-time for Jackson Jiaer Wang. His head pounds and the evidence of Josung’s evil stretches hot and puffy over Mark’s cheek, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop his grateful smile if he’d wanted to. He leans forward and brings his kiss to Jackson’s forehead this time, lingering with all the love he can muster in his exhausted chest as he feels Jackson let out a wet sigh. Like Jackson said, they’re both a little broken, and the younger needs the comfort as much as Mark did.

“I’ll always wait for you,” he promises, pressing one more quick kiss to Jackson’s skin before pulling back, feeling more like himself than he has in days. The resulting smile on Jackson’s face is as wet as it is brilliant, and Mark loves this gorgeous man until it physically hurts.

A soft knock brings them back to earth, destroys their bubble with reality when a middle-aged woman in a smart pants suit glances at them and asks. “Tuan Mark-shi?”

Jackson whirls around and pulls out of Mark’s grip, his own hands falling from Mark’s waist. Suddenly nervous and scared, Mark clears his throat. “That’s me.”

She looks between him and Jackson. “You ordered a driver?”

Mark turns to Jackson, once again the question of what to do on the tip of his tongue, but Jackson only sends him a strained smile and quickly squeezes his hand.

“I need to be _here_ ,” Jackson says softly, “and you need to choose for yourself as well.” He smiles. “We need to choose for ourselves before we can choose this-” he gestures between the two of them,- “and I’m okay with waiting. Because it’s you.”

“Fuck,” Mark hisses through the burning in his eyes, and he can’t help but shoot forward to give Jackson a kiss on his cheek. He leans back and plucks the keys from the door, grabbing Jackson’s hand and closing them around the cold metal.

There’s a moment of hesitance, of Mark screeching at himself to never let this man go, _ever_ , but Jackson’s words come back to him and Mark could never settle for giving Jackson anything less than perfection. “One month,” he promises with a steely voice. “I’m coming back for these, and for you, in one month, okay?” He’s shaking because he’s _scared,_ but Jackson gives him a watery smile and a nod, squeezing his hands once.

“I’ll be here.”

Mark almost caves and runs back into Jackson’s arms, wants to stay safe and tucked away in the other man’s presence, but then he sees the dark outline of the living room passage and feels a familiar sickness leeching into his stomach. If he stays now, all he’ll do is hide from the truth and use Jackson as a buffer. The other deserves better, deserves _more_ , and Mark doesn’t want to lose Jackson because he couldn’t scrape his sorry ass off the floor and ask for help.

He nods once, stepping back slowly, then turning fast and grabbing his suitcase and backpack. When he’s on the other side of his front door he turns back one last time and admires the worn-out face of the man who holds more strength and compassion than most people feel in their lives. It’s a physical pain to walk away, to leave when Jackson looks like an angel in all his glorious imperfection. Mark bites his lip and struggles to keep the new tears back, gives Jackson’s somber expression one last trembling smile and rasps. “Thank you.”

Jackson returns the smile with a tight-lipped one and plays with the keys in his hands. “Anytime.”

* * *

Jaebeom is waiting next to the car when Jackson comes down. After Mark left, Jackson texted the other to warn him, hoping Jaebeom would get the message and leave their hyung alone. Then he turned off the hallway light, locked the door to Mark’s place, and trudged down the six flights of steps he raced up no twenty minutes prior.

The air is still cold outside, though the sun has climbed just a smidgen higher to properly light the parking lot, but Jackson doesn’t shiver when the cold hits his skin this time. He breathes out long and soft, then puts one foot in front of the other in the direction of Jaebeom and his car. The other meets him half-way, worry lines deep around his eyes and bottom lip red from how much he bit down on it.

He takes one look at Jackson and opens his arms, letting the younger fall into him without complaint and rubbing calming lines across Jackson’s frozen back.

Jackson smiles crookedly and can’t find the strength to return the hug. He drops his face onto Jaebeom’s warm shoulder and feels his smile breaking as he opens his mouth and croaks, “I’m tired.”

Jaebeom hums softly, soothingly. Everything Jackson pushed away just now in the car, everything he smothered while on the plane; it all rises to the surface and demands attention. Buried into his friend’s shoulder, Jackson cries like a child that’s lost its first pet, exhausted and without holding back.

* * *

It takes three weeks of counselling before Mark can force the word out.

_“He raped me.”_

BamBam helps him find a doctor in Korea who _doesn’t_ reject him the second they find out Mark’s rapist was male, and Mark has his first session planned before he even books his ticket back. (Blondie-long-legs from that fateful night-gone-wrong turns out to be Kim Yugyeom, dancer extraordinaire (“He’s so _flexible_ , hyung.” “TMI, BamBam.”) and _everything_ BamBam wants. He’s also best friends with security guard Jungkook who’s younger brother to co-owner, he’s-both-a-mental-and-a-physical-doctor Kim Seokjin.

Guess silver linings really do exist.)

* * *

Jackson and BamBam become regulars at BigHit, meeting and befriending co-owner Kim Namjoon within the first three days. He, in turn, introduces them to other friends and regulars, most of them happy to share their ‘coming-out’ stories with a nervous Jackson and listening patiently to his in return.

Their hugs and words of compassion are glue to the broken pieces of Jackson, and he doesn’t notice he’s laughing for the first time in weeks; full-out, unbothered, high-pitched laughing, until BamBam smiles at him in wonder.

They even meet genderfluid Kim Himchan (“Not related,” Namjoon says with a fond roll of his eyes) who wears everything from bomber-jackets and biker boots to pink frilly sweaters with skirts and heels with a confidence that Jackson can’t help but admire.

(Himchan shares his horror-story about being thrown out by his parents at fifteen and almost dying on the streets in a calm and low voice, and proceeds to listen to Jackson with undivided attention. When Jackson’s done talking and feeling particularly stupid because he never came close to _dying_ , Himchan puts a hand on his shoulder and says in all seriousness.

“I know they’re your parents, and I know you still love them. But if they can’t see that you being gay is simply an important aspect of all the wonderfully convoluted things that make you who you are, then they never truly deserved you, kid.”

It hurts because it’s true and Jackson finds himself smiling despite the pain.)

* * *

The airport has always felt like a pocket dimension to Jackson. It’s a place with security through the roof, yet it feels as if everything goes. In a single glance, Jackson can spot people from at least five different nationalities, some with nothing but carry-on, while others lug around a mountain of suitcases and a gaggle of skipping children who become entranced by almost every new store they see.

It’s no wonder parents at airports always look stressed.

Jackson smiles at a particularly cute girl running after her older brother with a string of giggles and a small stuffed dolphin clutched in her fist. The mother keeps a sharp eye on her off-spring while the father is attempting to check-in their luggage. The scene is one of many that surround Jackson as he walks through the airport, eyes following the signs to arrival gate B4. He’s nervous and jittery, steps a little faster than normal and hand playing with the set of keys he's got in his right jacket pocket.

The others had never even spoken of going with him to pick up Mark. Jinyoung had simply pressed a set of car-keys into his hands (Jaebeom’s) since Jackson is still saving up to buy one himself, and waved him off. Though not before styling his hair and throwing one of Jaebeom’s black jean jackets at him. (“Trust me, he’ll love it,” Jinyoung winked at a flustered Jackson.)

After a half an hour drive and a brisk fifteen-minute walk, Jackson stands waiting nervously as the first people begin to emerge from the arrival gate. The arrivals are a wide area of at least five gates on this side of the airport, all sectioned off with a little fence so that those waiting don’t crowd the passengers completely. Jackson finds himself a spot a little ways behind the fence and to the right, eyes focused on the sliding doors that give little glimpses of the hall beyond considering all the glass has been covered with blurry see-through paper and scattered with blue plane stickers, meaning all Jackson sees until the doors slide open are vague shapes and silhouettes.

He still tries to find that one particular shape he’s been dying to see for a month. They’ve been in contact. BamBam and Youngjae wouldn’t let Mark pull another month-long silence, but Jackson’s conversations with Mark never went much deeper beyond ‘how was your day?’. It felt wrong to discuss _them_ over the phone or via text, but Jackson must admit that there’s a part of him that’s terrified that Mark’s changed his mind.

He bites his lip for the fifth time in three minutes and gulps. His nerves spike every time the doors open, but there’s a good dose of anticipation too. Even without Jinyoung’s ministrations, Jackson made sure to dress smart. He’s still wearing his brown boots, simply because they’re comfortable and he had to drive all the way here, but put some thought into the new, dark-blue jeans, and sky-blue sweater. It’s not like he can ever top Mark, but Jackson feels like today he’s come pretty darn close.

The doors open again and Jackson clenches the keys into his fist, hands stuffed into his pockets when his eyes finally, _finally_ , land on Mark. The other is searching the crowd the second he steps through the doors, suitcase with backpack on top rolling beside him. He’s wearing nothing but a loose, light-brown sweater and what Jackson knows to be his favorite pair of ripped jeans, but the sight of _Mark_ is still enough to steal Jackson’s breath away and make his cheeks hurt with how wide he’s smiling. Something settles in his chest, his shoulders sagging when he reminds himself that Mark is scanning the crowd for _him_.

“Mark-hyung!” He raises his voice. Mark’s head swivels and then his eyes find Jackson, the biggest and happiest grin splitting his face when they do. They need to maneuver around a group of rapid-fire French speakers, but then Mark is within reach and Jackson is opening his arms without thinking about it.

Mark crashes into him with enough force to make Jackson stumble, the older’s arms almost painful around his shoulders.

“Hey,” Jackson smiles breathlessly, returning the hug, “I guess that means I shouldn’t have worried?”

Mark pulls back with a laugh and a raised eyebrow. He looks stunning and Jackson wishes he could just whip out his phone and document every angle of Mark’s happy smile.

“Worried about what?” Mark says, arms still around Jackson’s neck and fingers scratching at his neck hairs.

Jackson thinks he’ll never stop smiling around Mark. “Us,” he says, then shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Mark’s expression goes soft. “It’s not nothing, Jacks. But yeah, no need to worry.” His smile grows again. “I’ve missed you so much, Jackson Wang.”

“I’ve missed you too, Mark Tuan.”

Mark’s giggle is sunshine in a bottle and Jackson knows he could get drunk off the love on Mark’s face. The older leans a little closer and suddenly looks nervous.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs, eyes uncertain but hopeful.

Jackson looks at the throngs of people all around, thinks of the beauty of pocket-dimensions, then slowly leans forward.

Mark’s lips are a little dry, but Jackson’s lip balm quickly takes care of that. He thinks he tastes mints and grows warm at thinking Mark had been planning on kissing him since before he got off the plane. He turns his head some more to deepen the kiss. Mark responds eagerly, hands sliding up into Jackson’s hair and pulling minimally, teeth suddenly teasing Jackson’s bottom lip. It pulls a surprised gasp out of him which Mark is only too happy to swallow, but then the older pulls away with another soft giggle.

Jackson blinks dazedly at Mark’s flushed cheeks and red lips, licking his own unconsciously. Mark keeps grinning. “How about we leave the rest for back home,” he teases, and Jackson can’t believe he’s the youngest here. Rubbing his forehead against Mark’s, their arms still tangled around each other, Jackson mumbles through his smile. “Can’t wait.”

Mark hums and breathes, not moving for a moment and Jackson is only too happy to stay in their little bubble. Then Mark carefully pipes up.

“Jackson?”

The younger pulls back and opens his eyes, giving Mark’s serious tone his undivided attention. “I’m here.”

Mark rolls his eyes but smiles at the same time, then he focuses on Jackson’s chin, expression nervous.

“I’m still not fine, but I want to be here now, with you. And I’ve got people to help me, to make sure that I’ll be fine at some point.” His voice drops and Jackson lets him finish what he needs to say, the younger’s smile already soft and understanding and hopeful.

“Do you still want to break? Or do you think you could give me a chance? To figure _us_ out?” Mark finally looks up and Jackson leans forward for a few precious seconds, letting his lips linger on Mark’s in a featherlight kiss.

When he pulls back Mark is smiling brilliantly, just like Jackson had hoped.

“Sometimes I still feel like breaking,” he confesses honestly, but lets the smile linger on his face as he drinks in the sight of Mark. “But mostly I just feel like _starting_. Starting this, _us.”_

He pulls Mark back in for a hug, breathing in a hint of deodorant and Mark’s own, musky smell and smiling. “Speaking of,” he teases, “I still have your keys … and I have Jaebeom’s car … and we have nothing else to do for the rest of the day.”

Mark’s laughter is loud and high, ringing in Jackson’s ear as the older shakes from mirth in his grip. “So, you _were_ happy to see me,” he giggles, and Jackson hides his pleased smile in Mark’s shoulder.

Then Mark kisses his neck and whispers in his ear. “Hey, Jacks?”

Jackson hums, loving the feel of Mark’s breath ghosting over his skin. The other man’s smile translates into his voice. “Thank you.”

Jackson squeezes tighter and nuzzles Mark’s neck. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read this entire thing. I'm aware the topics are pretty heavy, and my main point was to show how love, though it's important, isn't a magical band-aid you can slap on everything. The time-line in this story is made-up, and everyone has their own speed of dealing with trauma, so don't use this as an accurate account of how long healing should/could take. This story, it's characters and the topics are dear to my heart, so if you have any comments or constructive critisism, please let me know. I live for comments, people!
> 
> Thank you, once again, for sticking with me; you are awesome!


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